


Diverging Paths, Part IV

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-01
Updated: 2005-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perceptions can change in a day, lives can change in a night.  All is well; creeping forth is the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diverging Paths, Part IV

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I made it! This is now the anniversary edit of Diverging Paths IV. No changes to the plot, but expanded scenes and 11 new pages of material.
> 
> (Also, it sucks less.)
> 
>  
> 
> Betabetabeta credit: Norcumi, MerryAmelie, and WriteStuffLee

 

 

 

 

“I’m guessing things didn’t go well,” Anakin said in a muffled voice. He was inside the hyperdrive up to his shoulders, connecting lines with his hands instead of using the more time-consuming tools.

Qui-Gon spared a quick glance at Padmé, who was pretending to be engrossed in passing couplings to Anakin. “It went about as well as could be expected.”

“He’s being kind,” Obi-Wan said. He was leaning against the wall across from Qui-Gon, watching the drive’s installation progress with red-rimmed eyes. Qui-Gon had tried to get him to rest instead of holding up the wall, but Obi-Wan had insisted he wanted to see the repairs done first. Qui-Gon couldn’t really blame him for the paranoia. After their confrontation with the dark-garbed creature in the desert, he was feeling a bit paranoid, himself.

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon, as if hearing the thought. “We’re all alive and safe, so I still place this one in the win column.”

“If you wind up with a price on your head again, it’ll be your own fault,” Anakin declared, popping out of the drive. His face was smudged with black dust from forehead to chin. “We can remount the drive now.”

It was short work to put the casing back on, and then Anakin waved for Padmé to activate the mechanism that would return the hyperdrive back to its cradle. It settled into place with a solid _snap_ of electrical conduits refitting.

“It is supposed to do that, right?” Padmé asked, both eyebrows rising in concern.

“Yeah, and thank the Force it was snap and not pop,” Anakin muttered as he toggled the intercom. “That’s it, Ric. Power it up.”

“All right, kid,” Ric responded. “If she fails to burn, I’m firing you.”

The deck vibrated beneath their feet as the hyperdrive engaged with a sharp whine. Qui-Gon winced at the harsh cry; Padmé slapped her hands over her ears. “Is it supposed to do _that_?” she shouted.

“Baby motivator!” Anakin shouted back, grinning. “They all cry like that the first time out.”

The ear-piercing whine subsided after almost a full minute of squealing, replaced by the low hum of a properly refitted drive. “We are officially in hyperspace folks,” Ric announced through the intercom. “Next stop: Coruscant!”

“Thanks, Ric,” Anakin said, and turned off the comm. “Well, now we are definitely safe.”

“For the moment.” Padmé turned and gave Obi-Wan a stern glare. “I don’t expect to see you again until you’re recovered from whatever it was that happened on Tatooine.”

“That…may be a while,” Obi-Wan hedged.

“Then it takes a while,” the young Queen retorted. “Go fix it, Master Obi-Wan. There are more Jedi aboard my ship than just you.”

Obi-Wan held up his hands in a sign of surrender. “Yes, Your Highness. It will be fixed, I promise.”

Padmé didn’t look convinced, but she let it go. “Master Qui-Gon, I must confer with my handmaidens and plot a course of action for our arrival on Coruscant. Will you be available later? I know very little about what to expect.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Qui-Gon replied, bowing his head. “It will be my pleasure.”

“Anakin, I’m afraid I don’t have orders for you,” Padmé said, smiling.

“Yeah, but there’s a big, shiny cockpit at the front of the ship, and it has lots of buttons.” Anakin grinned. “Believe me, I know how to entertain myself. Go do diplomatic stuff. I’m bad at that, anyway.”

Their small group separated at the first corridor junction. Qui-Gon followed Obi-Wan back to the small cabin the three of them had been assigned, and wasn’t pleased until Obi-Wan had stripped to the waist and settled down on the bunk furthest from the door.

“You are such a mother hen,” Obi-Wan grumbled, curling up on his side.

Qui-Gon smiled and knelt down beside the bunk. “Sometimes.”

“I don’t know how I’ll be able to sleep, let alone trance down,” Obi-Wan admitted, after they did nothing more than sit quietly together. “I’ve been thinking about that moment with the Sith for a long time now.”

“Tell me,” Qui-Gon said. “I’d like to know.”

“You and Anakin were down there alone.” Obi-Wan sighed as he did his best to get comfortable. Qui-Gon sympathized; the bunks were hard, more like benches than beds. “There was _no_ warning. One minute, you and Anakin were almost to the ship, and the next, there was a Sith trying to kill you both. Anakin made it to the ship while you kept him distracted…”

Obi-Wan told him of how the rest of the encounter had gone—much like before, there had been an escape via the ship’s open boarding ramp. He managed to relay what had happened up until their arrival on Coruscant, and then fell asleep mid-sentence.

Qui-Gon sighed and nudged Obi-Wan the rest of the way into a healing trance, hoping it dealt with the remaining effects of the spice exposure. He had a bad feeling that there were new problems awaiting them on Coruscant, and adding the reality of the Sith was only going to make them worse.

Their two days of hyperspace travel were uneventful, at least. Anakin continued to be the darling of the pilots, while Queen Amidala spent much of her time locked away with her handmaidens and Panaka, debating strategy. Qui-Gon had little to offer them aside from landing protocol, and what to expect if the Chancellor was able to greet them as he’d once promised. He and Amidala both felt it would be wiser to make further decisions after testing the current political waters. Qui-Gon renewed the healing trance several times before Obi-Wan could regain consciousness, set on having his partner fully healed by the time they returned home.

Then there was no time left. Qui-Gon entered the cabin once more to find his partner facing the door, still asleep and probably cycling through the last trance suggestion. Obi-Wan had pulled the thin blanket up until it was almost covering his head.

Qui-Gon was loath to disturb him before the healing trance was complete, but there was no longer a choice. He leaned down to touch his partner’s shoulder. “Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan’s hand flashed out and grasped Qui-Gon’s wrist, his fingers digging into a nerve cluster before Qui-Gon could react. He resisted the urge to pull away, ignoring combat instincts that would have him following through with a more-violent counter.

“Are you feeling any better?” Qui-Gon asked in a mild voice. That was not quite the reaction he’d expected.

Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered open, muted gray and green. He looked up at him with a tiny smile. “Yes?”

Qui-Gon winced as the nerves in his arm started to protest the applied pressure. Message received; he might have been overzealous with the healing trances. “You’ve proven your point, I think. Would you mind letting go?”

The pressure lessened, but Obi-Wan kept his grip on Qui-Gon’s wrist long enough to leave behind the pins-and-needles sensation of a brief Force healing. All was forgiven, then.

Obi-Wan sat up, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Where are we?”

“In orbit above Coruscant, waiting for clearance to land.” Qui-Gon rubbed at his wrist, uncertain if he was hunting for damage, or just enjoying the echo of Obi-Wan’s touch. “I’m sorry. I take it you finally lost patience with being ordered to sleep?”

“Gods, yes,” Obi-Wan retorted, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk. “I can’t believe you kept me under for the entire trip,” he grumbled, and then smiled up at Qui-Gon, rueful. “But I have to thank you. It’s a relief to finally be well-rested.”

“You’re welcome,” Qui-Gon replied, trying not to be utterly distracted by how the blanket had fallen down to rest around his partner’s hips. He’d seen the other man without a shirt before, but…well. He was paying more attention, now. “You’ll be glad to know that I managed to get your clothes aired out. None of us will reek of hard travel when meeting the Chancellor on the landing platform.” Clean, unstained tunics would have been preferable, especially since they had been living in the same clothes for almost a week, but the Queen’s ship was meant for short travels with smaller complements. It didn’t have any sort of washing system aside from what the onboard ’freshers offered.

“Perhaps the _Radiant VII’s_ crew will have returned our things to the Temple,” Qui-Gon added.

“That would be nice. I’d hate to have to replace our kits again so soon.” A thoughtful frown appeared on Obi-Wan’s face. “How much time do we have until landing?”

Qui-Gon consulted his internal sense of time, which he trusted more than shipboard chronos. “About two hours, given Ric Olé’s estimates. Why?” With Anakin’s help, the Naboo pilot had managed to fit the ship into a diplomatic slot in Coruscant’s traffic patterns, one that would gain them landing clearance faster than the public routes. Even then, the wait time was far longer than usual; Qui-Gon suspected an unexpected session of congress, given the flooding of the diplomatic lanes. He’d suggested that landing in the Temple would get them to ground faster, but Amidala had refused, saying she would land in keeping with Naboo’s sovereignty.

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. “Two hours? Damn!” he swore, launching himself from the bunk and grabbing the folded tunics on the other bunk. It was still entertaining to watch a man force himself into clothes that were designed to be donned slowly.

“What’s wrong?” Qui-Gon asked, catching a hint of Obi-Wan’s urgency. Despite the nature of their traditional garb, Obi-Wan managed to get dressed faster than Qui-Gon would have suspected was possible, even after decades of practice.

“There’s something that’s been on my mind, and this is the only opportunity that I’ve had to look for it,” Obi-Wan said, tucking the long sash properly around his waist before tossing his belt over his shoulder. “I’m claiming the observation lounge and sealing the privacy lock. I need to be alone for this, or I don’t think it’s going to work.” He tossed a hurried glance over his shoulder as he palmed open the door. “And yes, I’ll tell you what I’m talking about—later, when time isn’t such a concern.”

Qui-Gon watched him go, curiosity roused by his partner’s sudden departure. Then his eyes fell upon Obi-Wan’s boots, abandoned in his haste. Laughing, Qui-Gon picked them up and tucked them under one arm. He had no idea what his partner was up to, but in the meantime he had to finish his written report to the Council. They were going to have an apoplectic fit as soon as he mentioned the word “Sith.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

When he was certain that the privacy lock had engaged, Obi-Wan sat down, cross-legged, on the floor of the lounge. The unexpected recovery time that Qui-Gon had granted him was going to be beneficial; he could not be more rested for what he was about to attempt.

Obi-Wan watched the parade of traffic float past the transparisteel window, letting it lull him: the glow from distant reflected lights and glistening hulls, the shifting shadows in the room, all of the moving patterns that made up the spatial grid of Coruscant’s sky…

His breath steadied from his sprint through the Nubian ship’s corridors, then shortened, growing slight and quiet until his chest barely moved. He tranced down, inward, reaching farther into himself than he did for standard meditation.

This was going to require the connection to the Force he had once worked so hard to build. Obi-Wan had carefully hidden that strength away not long after he had awoken into impossibility, once again sixteen Standard with his head full to bursting with all of the memories of his old life. Too many Jedi had been disconcerted by the intensity of his presence in the Force—some had even claimed to be blinded by it. For their sake, for his own privacy, for his worries about what the future might bring, he had hidden.

 _Perhaps I went too far,_ Obi-Wan reflected, when it took more effort than he’d expected to reopen those old pathways.

Obi-Wan gasped when the gentle warmth of the Force filled him, heightening his awareness in a way that was exhilarating…and sometimes frightening. He had missed this so damned much. On Tatooine, there had been no reason to put any of this aside, and every reason to bask in it. Here, though…

He sighed, seized by a fierce melancholy for the desert.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, but this time he did not see the lounge, or the view of the traffic grid outside. Instead, there were endless stars.

He could see the life-force of every being that surrounded him, dancing in the Force. Anakin was fierce joy in flight and good humor in companionship. Padmé, Queen Amidala, was grim determination, and nagging fear that her best would not be enough to safeguard her people. Qui-Gon was bright strength, chased by threads of unease as he struggled to compose their mission report. He had just written the word “Sith” and was staring at it, feeling like the world had turned itself upside down.

Obi-Wan could also feel the love that Qui-Gon had for him, burning in the Force like unceasing flame. He paused to bask in that glow. He’d suspected that Qui-Gon had almost acted on his newfound feelings several times, only to be interrupted at each pivotal moment.

 _I should have done this a long time ago,_ he thought. All the confirmation he would ever need about his place in Qui-Gon Jinn’s heart was rather obvious from this point of view. It was a great temptation to reach out and touch what he could sense, but Obi-Wan refrained. They were already so close to finally bridging that long divide. He could wait a little bit longer.

 _You will find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view._ He remembered, then, the sudden understanding in Luke Skywalker’s eyes as Obi-Wan tried to explain why he’d acted as he had, told the half-truths of Anakin’s fate and Darth Vader’s rise. During his muddled attempts to reconcile himself to this new life and time, Obi-Wan had forgotten his own lesson.

He felt a moment’s intense shame for that failure, and then let it go. There was no undoing it; he could only go forward.

He could no longer afford the easy paths. That time was over.

Obi-Wan turned his attention to Coruscant. It was the closest, brightest light in the endless field, a great jumble of so many lights living so close together. With the proper focus, he could turn that swirling, chaotic light into individual points and look at each being in turn.

He was partially aware when some of the smaller, fitted deck plates began to lift free of their foundations. Each bit of plating floated around the room, mimicking the pattern outside. The plates flowed from one point to the next; never meeting, always changing.

 _Not there_ , he thought, when the answer he was seeking did not reveal itself. He centered again upon himself, and noticed…yes, there—a thread that did not belong, one that reached out from the planet itself. It was so subtle that he’d missed it, at first. He tried to get rid of it and could not. He couldn’t even grasp it, which was frustrating.

 _Fine_. He centered upon himself, within himself, and began constructing a new shield. Strand by strand, he placed the lines of the Force, linking the shielding directly to his core self. If constructed correctly, nothing would be able to influence his thoughts but the Force itself.

When he came to the bonds he shared with Qui-Gon, Anakin, and Yoda, he paused. There was no escaping this part. _I’m sorry,_ he sent to the first two. Yoda would just have to yell at him later. _It will only be for a short time,_ he promised, and then continued with his shield construct, blocking the influence of both of the bonds.

Obi-Wan managed not to wince when the influence was lost. It was not permanent, and the bonds would not be harmed, but the Force was gathering itself like a disturbed, angry hive of bees. It prodded at him, trying to determine why Obi-Wan had chosen to do such a thing.

 _No harm, no harm,_ Obi-Wan whispered back, touched and being touched by the currents around him. It was intimate and familiar; it was harsh and unyielding. _I need to be able to see. Show me what you see,_ he asked. _Let me see._

He knew better than most that the Force was not an entity, or even sentient. However, there were times when it felt like he had the attention of some great, magnificent _other._

The Force answered his plea, and Obi-Wan gritted his teeth as a shroud he hadn’t even known existed was ripped from his mind.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Qui-Gon made sure Anakin was presentable, checking for too-obvious grease stains while they waited in the corridor for Obi-Wan to join them. In the ship’s hold a few meters away, the Queen’s retinue was going through a last-minute review before disembarkation. Just when Qui-Gon was considering contacting him via comm, he saw Obi-Wan approaching.

“I didn’t think you were going to make it,” Qui-Gon said in a quiet voice, and then handed Obi-Wan his misplaced footwear.

Obi-Wan stared at his boots for a moment, as if realizing only then that there was cold deck plating beneath his sock-clad feet. “For a moment, neither did I,” he said, leaning against the wall to tug on his boots without regard for dignity.

Obi-Wan took Anakin’s hand, and then grasped Qui-Gon’s hand as well. Qui-Gon was surprised by the openness of the gesture—while their touching had become more common of late, it had never happened around others. Then he sensed the strength of the emotions churning in his partner’s mind, and glanced down at him in amazement. Obi-Wan was _furious_. There were faint, telling sparks in his eyes, and a grim set to his jaw.

Anakin looked up at him in concern. _What is it, Master?_

 _Sorry, Padawan. I am…very angry with myself right now,_ Obi-Wan replied. _I thought that if anyone could make me feel better, it would be the two people I care about most in the universe._

Qui-Gon let loose a soft sigh of relief when the shields over the pairbond thinned back down to normal, and could hear the echo of it when the same was done with Anakin’s training bond. The pairbond opened on a dark cloud of anger, but it was slowly, systematically being displaced by chaos. His surface thoughts were swirling, half-formed, with random notions intertwined until it was so much meaningless gibberish. It was, Qui-Gon realized, a brilliant, misleading new layer to Obi-Wan’s already excellent shielding.

 _Can you sense what I’m doing to my shields?_ Obi-Wan asked. Panaka stuck his head into the corridor and gestured. They entered the room and greeted Queen Amidala in full regalia, still being played by Sabé. Everyone else was armed; Panaka had stuffed enough cobbled together weaponry into his and the Naboo’s garb that the group could fight a small war.

 _Yes,_ Qui-Gon answered, and Anakin gave a slight nod. _That’s a hell of a mess._

 _I want you both to do the same,_ Obi-Wan said. _Copy what you see of mine if you must, but do it._ He exchanged a sober nod with Panaka, who had been irritated with Obi-Wan’s absence during the landing. Panaka was no great fan of the Jedi, not after their initial disagreements over the Queen’s safety. After Qui-Gon had given the man an abridged version of what had been done to acquire the ship’s new motivator, they had at least been granted Panaka’s grudging respect.

Anakin smiled at Padmé, in her guise as Handmaiden, while trying to create the nonsense layer of shielding. Qui-Gon, more slowly, began to do the same. He had kept his mind well-ordered for a long time, and the nature of that shielding layer was going to give him one hell of a headache.

 _Why are we doing this?_ Qui-Gon asked, when he thought he had a good semblance of the gibberish shielding in place.

Obi-Wan gave him a quick glance, keeping most of his attention on the Naboo group. _There is someone on Coruscant that might be looking this way. My shielding the three of us would be more obvious._

Qui-Gon felt his earlier unease become true alarm. _How long?_

Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered over those assembled, taking note of each of the Naboo. His gaze lingered longest on Jar Jar Binks, who was hanging back from the main group and looking very much out of place. Something akin to sympathy wound its way through Obi-Wan’s thoughts. _Until we’re back inside the Temple._

It wasn’t quite the answer Qui-Gon had been looking for, but it would do, for now. There would be time for more questions later.

The boarding ramp lowered with a pneumatic hiss. The rescued pilots exited first, followed by the ship’s crew; both groups would line up on one side of the craft. Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Anakin went next, taking up position on the opposite side as a neutral counter to the evident armed guard. There should have been no danger on Coruscant, no malice or threat from those waiting to greet them, but after Tatooine, the Naboo were not in the mood to take chances.

Queen Amidala walked down the ramp, flanked by Panaka and the handmaidens. Senator Palpatine greeted her, all smiles and what looked to be genuine relief to see his Queen safe. Chancellor Valorum came forward to meet Amidala and her retinue when Palpatine introduced him. Qui-Gon hid a frown; Finis’s greeting was very succinct, far more neutral than Qui-Gon expected to hear from someone who had been championing the Naboo in public not two weeks previous.

The decoy Queen accepted their greetings with a nod, responding in kind. Qui-Gon didn’t know who had chosen Sabé for her role, but between the elaborate costume and the ceremonial makeup, the only way to tell the true Queen from her decoy was by their differing Force signatures. Padmé was an unobtrusive hooded figure lurking among the other handmaidens, but her eyes flickered left, glancing at the Jedi. Qui-Gon suspected that she was well-aware of the strange undercurrents of this meeting.

Palpatine gave the Queen another wide, warm smile, directing her towards one of the waiting speeders. From what Qui-Gon could hear, the Senator had already launched into detailed plans for presenting the Naboo petition to the Senate. With the Queen’s retinue moving on, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Anakin took the opportunity to walk forward, greeting the Chancellor with formal bows.

“I’m glad to see you’re all right,” Finis said in a low voice, gripping Qui-Gon’s hand. “When the _Radiant VII_ reported in and said they had come under attack, I feared the worst.”

“We’re resourceful, Chancellor. You should know that by now,” Obi-Wan said with an impish grin, shaking Valorum’s hand. “I’m afraid that I must leave you here—my Padawan and I are to accompany the Queen to the Senate dome.”

“That’s news to me,” Qui-Gon said, refusing to allow his surprise to show. Anakin was not yet so skilled, and his lack of awareness of their new task was written starkly across his face. He recovered quickly, but still lifted his head to give his Master a quizzical look.

“I know.” Obi-Wan’s expression faltered; underneath his cheerful greeting, he appeared deeply concerned. “I promised you an explanation, Qui-Gon, and I swear you will get it. For now, consider us an extra protection detail, Chancellor. I do not think our presence will be amiss.”

Finis shook his head. “I daresay your presence will not be frowned upon. Be careful, Obi-Wan, and you, too, Padawan Skywalker,” he said, reaching down to clasp hands with Anakin, who grinned back in recognition of the gesture. Qui-Gon thought they had the potential to become friends, at least away from the media’s prying eyes. If one was going to choose a friendship with a politician, Finis was a good choice.

Qui-Gon and Valorum watched Obi-Wan and Anakin rejoin the Naboo. Qui-Gon felt a sharp return of his earlier unease. _Things are happening, right now, and I still have little idea what to expect_ , he thought. It was frustrating, but there was nothing to do but keep trudging forward. He filled Valorum in on what had occurred since they shipped out from Coruscant.

Finis sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, my friend, my migraine just increased in size. You’ve been out of the loop long enough that you don’t know what’s happened.”

“No, I don’t.” Qui-Gon followed Valorum as the Chancellor walked towards the edge of the landing platform. “What is it? Dealing with the Senate could give anyone fits, but you look unwell.”

“Charges were filed against me by the Committee. Oh, they’re baseless, just like everything else that’s floating around,” Valorum continued, waving off Qui-Gon’s shocked protest as he stared at the Senate dome in the distance. “I think this might finally be it. I don’t know why these accusations of incompetence have been following me around, but I confess that I’m relieved that it will be over soon. I was never cut out for this sort of thing, anyway.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, refuting the man’s self-flagellation. “Your refusal to become a career politician is exactly why you are perfect for the position of Chancellor. You refuse to play the standard games, and that will always infuriate the naysayers. This will pass, just like everything else of late. The Senate just needs a scapegoat, and the media’s involvement in highlighting these non-existent scandals never helps.”

“I hope you’re right.” Finis turned his head and gave Qui-Gon a faint smile. “Well, except for your belief that I’m cut out for this role. However, I think it may be too little, too late. I fear this scapegoat has already been marked. My powers have been restricted to such a point that I can do little but wait for the vote to be called.”

Qui-Gon stared at the man who had been his friend for a number of years, their association beginning late in Qui-Gon’s apprenticeship. He’d sat with Finis when word came of his successful election as Chancellor—and then helped calm him, when Finis had done nothing more than put his head between his knees and profess his desire to pass out at the news. He had worked for Chancellor Valorum, off-and-on, for the past six years, feeling genuine pleasure at each task. Finis was one of the few senior officials in the Senate that Qui-Gon trusted. Too many of them were mired in bureaucracy, wasting time with pointless efforts while ignoring true problems. There were more than a few junior Senators rising through the ranks now, young ones who were angry with the way their seniors were demolishing their government. Those junior representatives showed promise, but their time had not yet come. Qui-Gon didn’t believe that anyone else could unite the Senate, new blood and old, except for the man before him.

“Then let’s do something about it,” he said at last, feeling an idea beginning to form. “Let’s give them a new scapegoat.”

The wind caught at Valorum’s formal robes of office, pulling the fabric towards the edge of the platform. “What do you have in mind, Master Jedi?”

“A press conference,” Qui-Gon suggested. “Performed before the Queen of Naboo makes her appearance in the Senate. Speak of everything that we’ve told you about the embargo of Naboo—use mine and Obi-Wan’s names if you must. The placement of Naboo’s citizens into those damned camps will catch the media’s attention, if nothing else. You may give Queen Amidala more power to sway the Senate, and that could build your own strength. Your fellow Senators have been complaining for too long that the Chancellor of the Republic is ineffective. Show them that they’re _wrong._ Tell them that you’ve already pledged to do all in your power to help the Naboo.”

Finis shook his head. “Qui-Gon, you and I both know that with the charges filed, I no longer have any power.”

“I know that,” Qui-Gon said, smiling. “But the media does not—or at least, they will not care. Sensationalism trumps facts far too often. This time, use it to your advantage, not theirs.”

Valorum looked up into Coruscant’s busy sky, mulling it over. “It’s a start, at least,” he said at last. “Qui-Gon, why can’t I have you as my political advisor? Instead I must resort to those dunderheads sitting in my office like overbearing lumps.”

Qui-Gon couldn’t help a tight grin. “Because I hate politicians, Finis. I would go insane and burn that damned Senate dome down after one too many questions about what I had for lunch two cycles ago.”

Finis barked out a laugh, as if surprised that he could still do so. “That’s true. I’m glad you’re my friend, Qui-Gon.”

“Likewise,” Qui-Gon replied, gripping Finis’ hand anew when the other man offered. There was more confidence shining in Valorum’s eyes, and Qui-Gon was glad to see it.

“I have to admit to some confusion,” Finis murmured as they returned to the cluster of blue-robed Republic Guards, keeping watch over the platform and the Chancellor’s private aircar. “You’ve always claimed neutrality when it comes to dispensing political advice. What has changed?”

Qui-Gon considered the question. _Obi-Wan,_ he thought, and then he remembered the face of the Zabrak Sith he’d just faced _._ _Everything._

“A lot,” Qui-Gon said aloud, “and not all of it is good. I must go, Finis. There are things I need to share with the Council, as well.”

“Good hunting, then,” Finis said with a smile. The other man was long familiar with Qui-Gon’s tendency to butt heads with the Jedi Council. “May the Force be with you, my friend.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

With two separate airspeeders employed to get the entirety of the Naboo contingent to the Senate, mix-ups were bound to happen. Obi-Wan and Anakin’s transport got lost in the shuffle, to Obi-Wan’s frustration. The two of them conversed with the pilots, with Obi-Wan finally directing them to Palpatine’s office for further information. He wasn’t quite sure where the rest of the Naboo ended up, but he knew where Queen Amidala would soon be.

It took at least an hour to navigate the lower floors of the Senate dome. Senators and their aides, junior senators and _their_ aides, sycophants, maintenance—all were flocking towards the cavernous room that housed the Republic’s governing body.

_Is it just me, or is this happening much faster than it did before?_

Obi-Wan snagged Anakin by the hand and pulled him out of the way of the Zarcothan delegation before the overzealous, weighty beings tried to mow down his Padawan. “Geeze, what’s _their_ hurry?” Anakin grumbled.

Obi-Wan left Anakin to look for reports of the Naboo invasion, hoping for any little scrap that they could offer Padmé. He finally found the girl in full regal dress, standing alone in one of the Senate observation rooms. The main viewscreen revealed the massive Senate chamber, with its various pods filling up as representatives arrived.

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure when Padmé had found the time to switch places with Sabé, but her grooming was impeccable. She didn’t acknowledge his presence, but Obi-Wan knew she was aware of him.

“What are you going to do?”

Queen Amidala turned in place, smiling at him before she went to a bench and sat down, her massive skirt fanning out in a perfect arc. Obi-Wan sat beside her in a relaxed slouch when she gestured, in direct contrast to her stiff, costume-created posture.

“Chancellor Valorum did as he promised, and called for an emergency meeting of the Senate. It will begin in an hour,” Amidala told him, folding her hands in her lap with short, precise movements. “I will plead my case before the Senate, and hope for results.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. This was definitely faster than the first time he’d lived through these events. Then, Anakin had the time to see the Temple for the first time, visit Amidala’s Senate guest quarters, and then return to see the Jedi Council, all before Palpatine started the presentation of the Naboo petition. There had been hours to prepare, not this enforced rush.

“You seem less confident in their involvement than before,” he said. One problem at a time.

Amidala frowned, an expression turned mournful by her makeup. “I have been informed that the Senate will be less inclined to aid us than I was previously led to believe.” She looked at Obi-Wan, a hint of entreaty in her gaze. “Tell me, Master Jedi: What do you think will occur?”

Obi-Wan knew exactly what was going to happen. That was the entire damned problem. “I’ll be honest, Your Highness. Chancellor Valorum has done all he can, at least through the public venues. Any further action must be decided by the Senate.”

“You speak of the charges filed against the Chancellor by the Appropriations Committee.” Amidala narrowed her eyes. “Senator Palpatine has explained to me that they limit his power, even during a session of the Senate.”

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to sigh; it would not help. He’d known that was going to happen, too, but there had been nothing he could do to prevent it. “The charges are baseless, Your Highness. Both Master Jinn and I know him personally, and you can take the word of two Jedi for the fact that there is not a corrupt bone in that man’s body.”

Amidala graced him with another smile. “You both seem to have quite the disdain for career politicians, so I understand that to be a great compliment.”

“One that is well-deserved,” Obi-Wan agreed. “However, until those issues are resolved, the Vice-Chair holds sway.”

Her eyes darkened. “So I have been told. And the Senate?”

“The Trade Federation representative will protest your accusation, probably before you can even finish your petition,” Obi-Wan said. “They will huff and puff, demanding that a committee be appointed, and it will be months before anyone sees a result. You are aware of what becomes of petitions that are sent to the courts, yes?”

She sighed and nodded. The tassels of her headpiece jingled like tiny bells. “Senator Palpatine feels that the election of a new Chancellor would sway events in my favor. What do you think, Knight Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan was hard-pressed not to stare at her. It was a new piece of the puzzle falling into place, and explained much of what had happened the first time he’d lived through these events. _Is this the start of the entire mess? Swaying a young ruler into calling for Valorum’s dismissal so that Palpatine doesn’t have to dirty his own hands?_

“I think that Senator Palpatine is being overly optimistic,” Obi-Wan said, choosing his words with care.

“How so?”

Obi-Wan rested his hands on his knees so that he wouldn’t be tempted to grip them into fists. “Even if Valorum was unseated today, elections would still take several days to complete. Palpatine has no way of knowing who will replace him.” _Well, he does, but I’m not supposed to know that,_ Obi-Wan thought bitterly.

“Your first concern is that a new leader might not be sympathetic to your plight. Even then, the new Chancellor would have to contend with many of the same problems, and your petition may still be sent to the courts. More importantly, a new Chancellor would have to work for the backing of the Senate majority, backing that Valorum already has, depending on the vote in question.”

Obi-Wan hesitated. What he told her next was less true than it once was, in his other life, but not enough to make a significant difference. “The Trade Federation has a strong presence in the Senate, Your Highness. Their supporters would stand to lose a great deal of money if something happened to the Federation, and they will work to make sure that does not happen. Without proof of a very specific nature, there is little that can be done politically.”

Obi-Wan had even brought the means to collect that proof on the Naboo mission, adding a tiny vidcorder to his gear. It had been tucked into his belt pouch when they stepped off the _Radiant VII_ , but fortune had not smiled upon it. Obi-Wan’s initial dunking on Naboo had destroyed the device’s sensitive innards.

“Proof,” Amidala repeated in a bitter voice. “The word of the Queen of Naboo will not be good enough, will it? Not even the word of two Jedi, speaking of the atrocities facing my people, will sway the Senate if they choose to be blind.”

“No,” Obi-Wan replied, allowing her to see his regret. “It will not sway them.”

Amidala lifted her head, her mouth set in a grim line. “Then maybe it is time that someone did something new.”

She stood up, her expression settling into a serene mask worthy of any Jedi. “I must still try. If I fail…” Her eyes glinted with stubborn resolve. “I will solve this conflict in any way necessary.”

Obi-Wan stood as well, and gave her a short bow. He knew well the strength of Padmé Amidala’s convictions. “Send word to the Council, or to myself, when a decision has been made,” he said. Whether the Senate’s decision or her own—that was up to Amidala. “We will help you if we can.”

“I will.” Amidala moved to depart, and then paused. “Obi-Wan…thank you.”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Padmé, you are quite welcome.”

After Queen Amidala left, he remained in the observation room for a few minutes, watching the pods. The great room was almost three-quarters full, with representatives from thousands of worlds making ready to hear the Queen of Naboo speak out against the Trade Federation.

Senator Palpatine was waiting in the pod granted to the Chommell Sector. Obi-Wan used the screen’s controls to enhance the image. Palpatine was smiling at one of his neighbors, an expression that appeared kind, benevolent, and utterly genuine. Maul’s appearance had cemented all of his old doubts into certainty, and yet…

“Force help me, I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Anakin caught up with him in the outer hall, which was less crowded now that the dome’s residents were almost in place. Padawans weren’t supposed to fidget, but as Obi-Wan felt much the same, he ignored the display of nerves.

“What is it, Anakin?”

To his surprise, Anakin grinned up at him. “I think Master Qui-Gon had a brainstorm after we left, Master. About thirty minutes ago, Chancellor Valorum called for a press conference and told the media _all about_ the Trade Federation, and what they’d really done on Naboo. Master, they’re eating it up! Look at this!” Anakin revealed the mini holoprojector in his hands, activating it and flipping through the news feeds. The invasion of Naboo was the prime subject, with updates scrolling beneath various talking heads who were nattering on about the potential political upheavals.

Obi-Wan realized he was gazing at the projection in astonishment. “You’re not kidding. Is there anything about the hearing?”

“Yeah,” Anakin confirmed. “Emergency meeting or not, everyone knows all about it now. They’re trying to guess at what the Queen will say. They’re talking about how the Senate is supposed to protect planets under its juris—jurisdiction, and if they don’t move to end the embargo, it’ll look bad for pretty much everyone involved.” Anakin shut down the projector. “Do you think it’ll do any good?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I don’t know, Padawan, but it will certainly rile them up. Finis couldn’t have timed that better.”

“Good,” Anakin said, with an obstinate frown. “They’re mean to him. It’s about time he got to step on their toes.”

Obi-Wan hid a smile. “Don’t tell anyone, but I agree with you.”

He turned his attention to his pairbond with Qui-Gon, and what he sensed made him scowl. “Oh, for—come on. We have to go back to the Temple before the Council causes your other Master to tear his hair out.” Obi-Wan might not know how to deal with Palpatine, but he sure as hell knew how to motivate the complacent.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Qui-Gon had expected disbelief when he briefed the Council, but this sheer, galling _refusal_ to accept his word had shocked him to the core. Qui-Gon had rarely given anyone cause to doubt his observations, and right now he felt like a child being punished for telling ridiculous lies.

He gave his partner and their Padawan a distracted mental greeting when the pair was admitted into the Council chamber, let in by one of the guards who watched over the doors during a closed session. That, apparently, had been the first strike against Qui-Gon’s credibility, by insisting on a closed session in the first place.

“The Sith have been extinct for a millennium,” Ki-Adi Mundi said, still shaking his head in polite disbelief. It was an opinion that had been repeated by almost every Councilor in the chamber.

Mace steepled his fingers together before leaning back in his chair. “I do not believe the Sith could return without us knowing,” he said in complete confidence.

Qui-Gon heard Obi-Wan give vent to a sigh. “Do you refute what we saw because it was Qui-Gon who told you, or do you just not want to believe it?” he asked. It seemed he was sharing in Qui-Gon’s frustration.

Yoda’s ears rose in dismay. “Believe Master Qui-Go I do, Obi-Wan, but sensed this, _we_ have _not_.”

Obi-Wan nodded before glancing up at Qui-Gon. His eyes were flat gray, a color that never boded well for beings who wanted to escape being flayed by Obi-Wan Kenobi’s temper.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan whispered, before giving Anakin a quick look of reassurance. “I’m going to have to do it again.”

“Do what—oh,” Anakin said, as both pairbond and training bond went silent. Qui-Gon almost didn’t notice, caught up in what he could sense Obi-Wan doing. This was not like the gibberish shielding. The Force was moving around his partner, the currents shifting…

…and then, Obi-Wan wasn’t there anymore. He was still visible, but Qui-Gon could not find any trace of his presence in the Force.

 _Dear gods._ Qui-Gon wasn’t quite able to resist the urge to reach out and touch Obi-Wan’s shoulder, reassuring himself that the other man still existed.

“Force!” Mace exclaimed. “Kenobi, what the hell did you just do?”

Obi-Wan rode out the wave of protests from the other Masters without saying a word. Yoda also remained silent, but all of his attention was focused on Obi-Wan. The tiny Master looked horrified, an emotion that Qui-Gon could not recall ever seeing on the ancient Master’s face.

Obi-Wan dropped his arms back to his sides, where his hands clenched into fists. “Feel this, you _cannot_ ,” he said, in mimicry of Yoda. “Can you?” Obi-Wan challenged, his chin thrust forward in one of the most stubborn poses Qui-Gon had ever witnessed. “If you can find me with the Force, then I will gladly concede Master Yoda’s point.”

Qui-Gon’s talents in the Living Force were baffled by what they could not perceive. What Obi-Wan had done should _not_ be possible. His Force-sense was telling him that no one stood at his side, and that was completely unacceptable.

“Please stop,” he whispered. “I find that I cannot bear it.”

“You have made your point, Obi-Wan,” Depa Billaba said. She was pale, her eyes betraying her intense shock. “I think you can stop now.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, breathing out. The shielding faded away, bit by bit, as if it didn’t want to go. At least this time, the bonds were restored first, not last. The currents of the Force slowly returned to normal—or at least as much as they had been, of late.

 _Does this have something to do with the layered shielding upon landing?_ Qui-Gon asked.

 _It has_ everything _to do with it,_ Obi-Wan replied, and then opened his eyes. He met the gaze of every member of the Council as he turned in a slow circle, speaking in a strong, clear voice.

“Once, I witnessed a talented young Jedi speak to a seemingly superior foe. He said to his enemy, imprisoned as he was: ‘Your overconfidence is your weakness.’”

Obi-Wan brushed at his forehead, wiping away beads of sweat that evidenced what considerable effort it had taken him to hide in such a way. “Please don’t let it be yours.”

Mace stared hard at Obi-Wan. “Who won?”

Obi-Wan’s lip twitched. “You could argue semantics about what happened, but it was the young Jedi who walked away alive.”

Mace settled back down in his chair, frowning. “That doesn’t necessarily equate to a victory.”

“Master Yoda and I considered it one,” Obi-Wan retorted, which was enough to curb that discussion.

“This is what you were doing on the ship,” Qui-Gon said, but then he thought that couldn’t be right. He’d lost sense of the bond, but Obi-Wan’s presence had never blanked out.

Obi-Wan offered him a wry smile. “One of several things, yes.”

Master Yoda was still clutching his gimer stick against his chest. “So,” the ancient Master began. “A Sith, it was, hmm?” When Obi-Wan nodded, Yoda sighed. “Then another, there will be. Demonstrated, young Obi-Wan has, how such a secret could remain hidden from us.” Yoda’s left ear dipped low, announcing his displeasure with the method in which Obi-Wan had chosen to make his point.

“But _how_ could the Sith have returned?” Master Yaddle asked. “One thousand years, it has been, since their line was driven to extinction.”

“Perhaps they were not as extinct as we always believed,” Plo Koon mused.

Adi Gallia leaned forward in her chair. It was obvious by posture and expression that the Corellian woman had accepted the truth of the situation, and was ready for the challenge. “Obi-Wan, can you tell us anything else about the Sith that you and Qui-Gon faced on Tatooine?”

“You mean the one we ran away from?” Obi-Wan asked, unashamed of their method of escape. They had not left without causing the Sith a fair bit of damage, at least. “His name was—is—Darth Maul. He’s almost powerful enough to qualify as a Sith Lord, but Maul is the apprentice. I’m afraid I can’t tell you much more than that. I know very little about him.”

“Why is that?” Adi asked.

“Because I sliced the son of a bitch in half,” Obi-Wan bit out, his eyes shining with sudden anger. “I wasn’t in the mood to ply him with a lot of questions.”

 _Force, Obi-Wan_ , Qui-Gon thought, as dread started to curdle in his gut. He had a bad feeling that he knew exactly what had provoked that particular sort of retribution.

Adi leaned back in surprise, but it was Eeth Koth who spoke. “When? I thought that the three of you left this supposed Sith behind on Tatooine?”

“Not—not then. I…” Obi-Wan rubbed his forehead, as if pained. “Six days from now, if things continue the way they have been.”

The Councilors exchanged concerned glances. Even Piell gave Obi-Wan a measuring glance. “Six days from now, in the other time you say you experienced…I’d guess that you were still wearing your braid.”

Anakin stepped up between them, taking and gripping both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan’s hands. Qui-Gon squeezed their Padawan’s hand in reassurance, a gesture that Anakin returned before looking up at him with thoughtful, worried eyes. Qui-Gon sympathized; he knew exactly how Anakin felt.

“It would definitely have been cut afterwards, if you defeated a Sith in combat,” Depa said, smiling. “I could see Master Qui-Gon boasting of such an accomplishment for years.”

All color drained from Obi-Wan’s face. Qui-Gon could have throttled the woman, Mace’s first Padawan or not. “Yes,” Obi-Wan admitted in a quiet voice. “I suppose he might have.”

It took no longer than a heartbeat for Obi-Wan’s meaning to become clear. Qui-Gon found himself being regarded by twelve Jedi Councilors. “I already knew,” he said. “You told me,” he explained, when Obi-Wan looked at him in confusion. “The spice.”

“Dammit,” Obi-Wan muttered, while Anakin looked confused and said, “What spice?”

Yoda’s ears lowered, his eyes shining with regret. “See, I do. We refused to listen then, as well, and alone against the Sith, we sent you both.”

“It isn’t much of a defense, but there was a lot of…mutual animosity, at the time,” Obi-Wan said. “Qui-Gon brought you a problem and a prophecy, and none of you were inclined to view either favorably. I’m really sorry,” he said, directing his words to Qui-Gon before bowing his head. “Drug-addled stupor was not the way I wanted to have that particular discussion.”

“Don’t apologize,” Qui-Gon replied, ignoring the Council’s too-interested communal stare. “Believe me, I have no intention of dying, Sith or no bloody Sith.”

“You’d better not die,” Anakin muttered under his breath. “Or _I’m_ going to kick your ass.” Qui-Gon smiled, letting the boy know that his comment had been overheard. Then he reclaimed his hand from Anakin, reaching over to touch Obi-Wan’s face.

Obi-Wan lifted his head. His eyes were reflecting so many painful memories that it almost made Qui-Gon’s breath catch. This was about more than just the threat the Sith presented.

He had so many questions, and he thought that now, he might finally get answers. Not here, though, not in front of prying eyes, ears, and minds. Instead, Qui-Gon brushed his fingers through the fall of Obi-Wan’s hair and rested his hand on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, feeling muscles jump at his touch. He pulled Obi-Wan just close enough to plant a kiss on his partner’s forehead.

“I am not going anywhere,” Qui-Gon promised, his voice pitched for their ears alone. “Do not forget that.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes seemed brighter, the vow chasing away some of the old ghosts. “If you think I have any intention of letting you, you’re out of your mind,” he whispered back. Anakin, stuck between them, let out a high-pitched giggle.

“If you two are quite finished?” Mace drawled the question, recalling them both to the business at hand.

“We still need to decide what is to be done about our new friend, Darth Maul,” Adi said. “Unless you have something far worse in mind, this is the event you once warned us about. You gave us a promise, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan frowned at her words. “To the first: Everything resides in Queen Amidala’s decision. The Sith was sent to ensure that she signs a treaty that will legalize the Federation’s occupation of her planet. We were his targets on Tatooine because we stood between Maul and his goal.”

Ki-Adi Mundi spoke while combing his fingers through his beard. “If their occupation was legalized, it would set a terrible precedent in the Senate.”

“Why would the Sith want such a thing?” Depa asked. “It seems…petty.”

“Chaos, Master Depa,” Ki-Adi answered. “There aren’t enough of us to go around if we were needed to fight a trade war.”

Master Yaddle sounded sad. “You know the identity of the Sith Lord, but tell us, I fear you will not.”

“Tell you, I cannot,” Obi-Wan replied, glancing back over his shoulder to look at her. “Not yet. There is a difficulty.”

“What kind of difficulty?” Mace asked.

“I believe I could at least tell you his name, and that we could stand here as a group and plot a course of action for dealing with him,” Obi-Wan said. “But the moment I step out of this room, I think every single one of you would forget.”

“That’s preposterous.” Even Piell scowled. “What makes you so certain, Knight?”

“I told Qui-Gon, three days ago. He doesn’t remember.”

Qui-Gon half-turned to regard Obi-Wan in surprise. “You told—I remember no such— _when?_ ”

“On the ship, before I fell asleep. We were discussing what might await us on Coruscant, but…” Obi-Wan shook his head. “You heard me, but it was like the words were vapor. You responded to everything else in the conversation except for that.”

Qui-Gon didn’t ask if it was something Obi-Wan had dreamed. His partner might have vivid dreams, and horrific nightmares, but he always knew the difference between waketime and sleep. “Obi-Wan, that’s terrifying.”

“You’re telling me?” Obi-Wan asked with a strained smile. “When I woke up, and everything was still so blasted _normal_ , that’s when I was certain.”

Master Yarael ceased his typical back-and-forth sway. “You are speaking of a construct,” he said, to Qui-Gon’s immediate confusion. The Quermian Master must have picked up on some clue in the conversation that Qui-Gon had missed.

“I believe so.” Obi-Wan looked relieved. “I think I’ve almost worked out how to show the construct to someone else, but I need more time to figure out the details. I promise, I will be showing it to someone else before we leave Coruscant.”

“Leave?” Adi questioned.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Let’s just say that there is a distinct possibility that we will be spending more time in Queen Amidala’s company.”

“Is the Queen in danger from the Sith here on Coruscant?” Depa asked, and then her eyes widened. “Oh. No, it isn’t that at all. Her death here would drive support for the Naboo petition, and you’ve already said that the Sith do not want that.”

“No, he doesn’t, but if Amidala leaves Coruscant, the Sith will follow,” Obi-Wan said.

Saesee Tiin was shaking his head. “You are asking us to take a lot of things on faith, Knight Kenobi,” he grumbled.

“Hell, Saesee. Force knows it’s worked for the Jedi so far,” Mace returned in a dry voice. “Why should we stop now?” Saesee subsided with another narrow-eyed glower at the Head of the Order.

“We need to…Force. We need to discuss this. Master Jinn, Knight Kenobi, and Padawan Skywalker, leave us now,” Mace instructed. In a gentler voice, he added, “The Senate session has not yet concluded, so there is time, if Queen Amidala is to contact you. Get some rest while you can.”

Once the double doors had closed behind them, Anakin declared, “Well, that sucked.”

“I wish Garen hadn’t taught you that word,” Obi-Wan grumbled as he walked away from both the guards and the Council secretary. Anakin shrugged, following along, and Qui-Gon kept pace. When they reached the shielded exterior balcony at the end of the hall, Obi-Wan made a face, as if it was the last place he expected to find himself.

“What’s the plan?” Qui-Gon asked, leaning against the railing while facing Obi-Wan and Anakin.

“There is no plan,” Obi-Wan admitted, and rubbed at the bristle on his face. “Aside from my desperate need to shower and shave.”

Qui-Gon regarded him in concern. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

Obi-Wan blew out a long sigh. “Qui, I’ve been trying to figure out how to deal with this moment for over four years. The best I have for you is that we should just let the Naboo scenario play out. It’s the only thing that will bring at least one Sith out of hiding, and he’s the best chance we have of attracting the attention of the Master.”

“I wanna go change clothes,” Anakin announced, after a long, tense silence. “I’m pretty sure this tunic is starting to gain sentience.”

“Now that, at least, is a good plan,” Obi-Wan said, smiling. “Should we meet later, Qui? Perhaps have dinner that did not come from a wrapper or other questionable sources?”

“That sounds good,” Qui-Gon agreed, and watched the pair depart. Logically, a return to his own quarters was the best choice, but instead, he found himself roaming the Temple.

The Sith were returning—had returned, if Maul’s appearance was any indication. He paused on the upper landing for the Grand Stair, staring out at the great hall until the details of the columns began to blur together. Then his attention turned inward again, and he allowed his feet to carry him on.

 _Things were—bad, for everyone, not just the Jedi,_ Obi-Wan had said, on that long-ago day when his dramatically changed Padawan had spoken to the Council for the first time. Bearing the Sith, that statement, and Obi-Wan’s scars in mind, it was easy to guess what kind of scenario Obi-Wan had lived through.

 _The last time there was a galactic war, the Republic still had a military,_ Qui-Gon thought, and grimaced. If the Sith had the means to draw upon an army…

He halted his steps. The Trade Federation had an army, the same army that had just invaded Naboo.

Qui-Gon realized he was standing before the door to one of the training salles, and decided that he really wanted to stop thinking for a while. He entered the room to find several Jedi already in the middle of a match, Masters he had seen around the Temple but never officially worked with. They welcomed him, asking Qui-Gon to join in their group sparring session, and he accepted.

The three Jedi were trounced by Qui-Gon in short order, but didn’t dwell on it. Laughing it off, they asked for another round. Qui-Gon gave it to them, and the four Jedi spent several hours chasing each other around the room. Each time, Qui-Gon found himself gaining ground, winning whether he faced a single partner or multiple ones. His skills with a lightsaber were far beyond anything he had ever dreamed, knowledge that brought him pleasure if not pride.

“I give up, I give up,” his last opponent said with a laugh, shutting down her lightsaber when Qui-Gon cornered her with his blade hovering near her throat. “Force, Qui-Gon Jinn, but you’re good,” Luminara Unduli praised him. “Now all I have to do is spar with that beautiful mate of yours, and I can say I’ve been beaten by two of the best.”

 _Mate?_ “Oh—we’re not—” Qui-Gon stumbled over his words while Unduli grinned at him.

“So much for subtle fishing,” Unduli conceded. “That means the betting pool is still open.”

Kit Fisto echoed Unduli’s grin. “At the rate the two of you are delaying, no one is ever going to win.”

Qui-Gon glanced around at the three Masters in turn, one eyebrow raised as he tried his best to look formidable. “Everyone really does know, don’t they?”

“Yes, and if you don’t hurry up and ravish him, I’m considering it,” Unduli teased him, unfazed by Qui-Gon’s stern demeanor. “Why in the worlds haven’t you two done anything yet?”

“Because I bloody well keep getting interrupted!” Qui-Gon burst out. Then he groaned in dismay as three Jedi Masters cheered him on. “Damn. You’re all going to up your bets now.”

“Can’t,” the third Master said with a shrug. It was driving Qui-Gon almost to distraction that he couldn’t remember the other man’s name. “Rules were set at the beginning that any bet placed couldn’t be changed once it was set. I lost a while back—had it pegged for about a year and a half ago.”

“A year and a...” Qui-Gon realized his jaw was hanging open. “How long, exactly, has this been going on?”

Unduli smiled and took his arm in a gentle grip. “Since your former Padawan turned Coruscant legal, Master Jinn.” Then she paused, sniffing the air. “Oh, my. You need a shower—in fact, I’d say it’s long overdue. What did you do, flee down here the moment the Council was finished with you?”

At Qui-Gon’s rueful nod, she snorted a laugh. “Right, then. Well, I will escort you this evening, Master Jinn,” she said, leading him in the direction of the salle’s communal bathing area. Qui-Gon followed along, if only because he was certain Unduli would drag him to the showers if he hesitated. He suspected the young Master’s new Padawan was learning similar lessons.

Unduli gave him a shove when they reached the doorway. “Go shower, and don’t you dare consider coming out of there until you’re clean,” she ordered.

Qui-Gon saluted her with his extinguished lightsaber, fighting a smile. Kit and the other Master—Jax, Jax Taun, Qui-Gon finally remembered—laughed at him before Qui-Gon ducked into the bathing area. It was empty at this point in the evening; the other Masters were likely returning to their own quarters to shower after the long duel.

 _Why don’t I do the same?_ Qui-Gon wondered, shucking his sweat-drenched tunics and dropping them onto a bench. He placed his belt and his lightsaber on top of his tunics, and then sat down on the bench next to the pile to unfasten his boots.

_Because I’m going to die in six days._

The air felt like it had been ripped from his lungs, and the row of lockers in front of him became wavy, blurring lines. Qui-Gon leaned over, shut his eyes, and forced himself to breathe. His jaw was clenched so tight that it was hard to get any air at all.

He had been avoiding that thought all evening, not even realizing he was doing so. Once alone, however, he couldn’t stop _thinking_ about it.

Qui-Gon made short work of stripping off the rest of his clothing. He stepped into a shower and turned on the water full blast, cranking up the heat until steam enveloped him. He let water pound down on his back, and then against the top of his head. The initial panic started to fade, replaced by irritation at his reaction.

He found a bit of soap that someone had forgotten and used it until there wasn’t any left, stripping a week’s worth of grime from his skin and hair while trying to pin down the source of his irritation. He did not fear death—he would be a fool to fear it, considering the life he had chosen. It was just…

Qui-Gon pressed both of his hands against the water-slick tile and bent forward, letting water cascade down on the back of his neck. _Focus, you damned fool_ , he ordered himself. He could not strip away the knowledge that Obi-Wan had given him; he could only move forward.

He didn’t like the timing of it, and it had nothing to do with reemerging Sith. No, this was about his own blindness, his inability to recognize what had been standing right at his side. Qui-Gon had spent much of his life alone. He was damned if he was going to die without seeing the full potential of what a relationship with his partner might entail.

“Qui?”

Qui-Gon lifted his head from the flow of water and turned to find Obi-Wan a few feet away, gazing at him with worried eyes. “What are you doing here?” he asked, and then regretted at the harsh fall of his words.

“I heard you.” Obi-Wan averted his eyes. “I wanted to see if—if you were all right. I’m sorry that I startled you. I’ll leave you your privacy—”

“No!” Qui-Gon shouted, and then did wince at his loss of control. “I mean. Don’t.   Please.” He closed his mouth and decided to blame his lack of articulation on Obi-Wan’s appearance. His partner was wearing a green shirt that hung loose on his frame, accompanied by dark leather trousers that clung to his hips and legs. He was standing on the tiled floor with his feet bare.

“You forgot your boots again,” Qui-Gon said. There; articulation at last.

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows rose in startled realization, and he glanced down at his feet. “Er, yes. I guess I did,” he said, flexing his toes on the tile. “I was in a hurry.” He lifted his head and took a step forward, staring at Qui-Gon. There was a mixture of concern and…something else in his eyes, something akin to flame. “Are you certain that you’re all right?”

It was the flame that caught Qui-Gon’s attention, and he latched onto that heat like it was a lifeline. “I think I’m going to be,” he whispered. He reached out and caught the front of Obi-Wan’s shirt, pulling him in closer.

There was a bemused smile on Obi-Wan’s face as the first drops of water darkened the green fabric. “I’m going to get wet.”

“Mm-hmm,” Qui-Gon agreed, and drew his partner into a fierce kiss. He felt Obi-Wan’s surprise within their pairbond, and then Obi-Wan responded to him, returning the kiss with as much fire as Qui-Gon offered. Water poured down on them both, soaking Obi-Wan’s copper hair and turning it into dark red tendrils that clung to Qui-Gon’s hands.

 _Oh, Force, this is—_ Obi-Wan didn’t even complete the thought; he shoved his hands into Qui-Gon’s hair and pulled Qui-Gon down into an open-mouthed kiss. Qui-Gon stumbled forward, every nerve in his body afire, as Obi-Wan did his best to all but climb inside Qui-Gon’s skin.

“Oh, gods,” Qui-Gon rasped, lifting his head to breathe. His heart was pounding like it was trying to escape his chest.

Obi-Wan placed one of his hands on Qui-Gon’s cheek, his fingers wet and warm. There was so much in Obi-Wan’s gaze, and for once it was easy to read: _Do you want this?_ was foremost, accompanied by desire, a blatant willingness to continue what Qui-Gon had started.

In answer, Qui-Gon grasped the fabric of Obi-Wan’s soaked shirt and yanked it down, biting on the delicate skin on the side of his neck. Obi-Wan gasped; emboldened, Qui-Gon continued to nibble his way down to the junction of his collarbone, which turned gasp into long, low moan.

“Fuck, Qui—” Obi-Wan put his hands on Qui-Gon’s shoulders and shoved him back up against the opposite shower wall.

“Kind of the idea,” Qui-Gon murmured back. Obi-Wan grinned at him, stood on his toes to make up their difference in height, and resumed their aborted kiss.

Qui-Gon jerked in surprised lust when his bottom lip was subjected to a gentle nip, then an agile tongue slipped between his lips, teasing him with darting movements and slick warmth. Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s narrow torso and lifted him off of his feet while Obi-Wan did his best to devour him.

“Wait,” Obi-Wan whispered into his mouth, and dropped back down onto his feet. He pulled his wet shirt off over his head and flung it aside. His skin was pale and red-blotched from the heat of the shower. The narrow trail of pale red hair on his chest had been darkened by the water, not quite enough to hide the long, shallow scar that ran from sternum to navel. Qui-Gon ran his hand down the center of Obi-Wan’s chest, feeling the scar beneath his fingertips. Obi-Wan shivered at the delicate touch.

Qui-Gon looked up to find Obi-Wan regarding him with his eyes shining vivid green, his pupils wide and dark with lust. His partner’s shoulder-length hair was plastered against his face and neck, not quite hiding the bite marks Qui-Gon had left behind.

He had never thought Obi-Wan more beautiful than in that moment.

Qui-Gon wasn’t sure who moved first, but it meant that they fell into each other and slid to the floor, driven to seek wet skin and heat. Obi-Wan crawled into his lap, straddling him. Qui-Gon closed his eyes, lost in sensation—lips upon his, warm fingertips on his face, his neck, before Obi-Wan’s hands clutched his shoulders in what felt like desperation. Qui-Gon gripped Obi-Wan’s waist with both hands and thrust against him, gratified by the nonsensical murmuring of encouragement—encouragement that turned into beautiful incoherence as Obi-Wan pressed as close as he could get, letting their bodies rock together.

Obi-Wan wrapped his hands in Qui-Gon’s hair and pulled him forward, sealing their lips together in a seeking, open-mouthed kiss. Qui-Gon, in response, opened the shields he kept on his side of their pair-bond, flooding it with the sensations that were overwhelming him as he desperately sought release. Obi-Wan shouted something, a language Qui-Gon didn’t know, and then shuddered in Qui-Gon’s arms. There was a fresh bloom of warmth, along with the reverberation of the almost-pain of orgasm. Qui-Gon moaned against Obi-Wan’s neck, thrusting twice more before the world went white.

Qui-Gon opened his eyes when the warning chill of the shower’s end-cycle struck his legs. He shut off the tap with a graceless wave of his hand before dropping his arm back down onto the warm tile. He’d never lost consciousness from sex before, even if the moment was brief, but he was too sated, too wrung out, to give it much thought.

Qui-Gon had landed on his back, stretched out on the floor. Obi-Wan was lying on top of him, head nestled underneath Qui-Gon’s chin, his breath a gentle up-and-down pressure against Qui-Gon’s chest.

Obi-Wan lifted his head, his eyes flickering open. Qui-Gon found himself holding his breath. He had given thought to sex with his partner, yes, but not like this, and if Obi-Wan regretted what had happened—

“Shh,” Obi-Wan said, crawling forward so that he could deliver a soft kiss to Qui-Gon’s lips. “I love you, you idiot.”

Qui-Gon felt a huge smile spread across his face, and his heart swelled in his chest. He’d known that, yes, but it was quite another to hear Obi-Wan say the words to him. “This idiot loves you, too.”

Obi-Wan grinned at him, his eyes reflecting the deep thrum of joy that Qui-Gon could still feel, weaving its way through their bond. “I’ve been waiting for you to be able to tell me.” Wet strands of copper hair brushed Qui-Gon’s skin as Obi-Wan kissed him again, languorous and very thorough.

“Though, really, your timing is _odd._ I’ve imagined loving you in a lot of places, Qui-Gon Jinn, but the communal showers? That is not on the list.”

Qui-Gon laughed in delight. “At least no one was here.”

“Bah,” Obi-Wan muttered, putting his head back down to rest on Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “That’s not going to matter. This spot is going to reek of Force-enhanced sex for months. We’ll never hear the end of it.”

Qui-Gon felt the wash of possessiveness from Obi-Wan, and smiled. “You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You’re fucking right, I wouldn’t,” Obi-Wan returned, his arms tightening around Qui-Gon. “You are mine, mine, _mine._ ”

Qui-Gon sighed, strangely pleased by the thought, and by the perfect way Obi-Wan fit against him. The feel of another man’s skin resting against his own had long been lacking in his life. “You sound certain of that.”

Obi-Wan lifted his head, resting his hands on the floor on either side of Qui-Gon’s shoulders as he stared down at him. The smile had left his face; Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan’s strength in the Force as if it was almost a living thing. “I’ve waited a lifetime and more for you,” he whispered. “Never have I been more certain about anything.”

Qui-Gon looked up at him, awed, honored, and perhaps a bit shaken by the depth of the emotion he could sense. “Well, then,” he began, swallowing down the hard lump in his throat. He didn’t have the words to properly respond to what he’d just been told. It opened up entirely new realms of possibility that he’d yet to consider.

In the meantime, there was something about staring up at the wet, half-naked vision of his partner that prompted him to consider other activities. “Why don’t we go do this again, in a real bed? Preferably mine.”

Obi-Wan answered him with another kiss, his hand coming up to brush along the beard and bristle of Qui-Gon’s cheek. “That is the best idea I’ve ever heard.” Obi-Wan rose up, stretching, and then helped Qui-Gon get to his feet when his legs weren’t quite ready to support him.

Qui-Gon glanced at the clothes he’d discarded on the bench. “I forgot; I don’t have anything clean stashed nearby.”

“Wear them anyway,” Obi-Wan said. His eyes were smoldering green with flecks of blue sparking in their depths. “You’re going to need another shower when I get through with you.” It was all Qui-Gon could do to nod in dazed acceptance.

They walked back to Qui-Gon’s quarters side by side, their hands not quite touching. He was dry and clean but for his clothing. Obi-Wan left wet footprints behind as he walked, his clothes soaked from their impromptu showering. Those they passed on the way regarded them with curiosity, especially Obi-Wan, who would sometimes offer a brief, innocent-sounding explanation of, “I fell in,” which made Qui-Gon bite hard on his tongue to keep a revealing smile from his face. If they’d met anyone that evening who knew them well, the entire Temple would have known in short order that the betting pool was closed.

On the final lift ride up the East Tower, Obi-Wan took a moment to tell Anakin that he had their quarters to himself for the evening. Qui-Gon could hear the faint echo of communication along the training bond. He couldn’t discern what was said, but Obi-Wan blushed deep red and muttered something dire about uppity Padawans.

“Is he gloating?” Qui-Gon asked. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that Anakin had meant for his speech about love, obliviousness, and the betting pool to be heard by both of them. It wasn’t subtle by any means, but it had certainly gained Qui-Gon’s attention at just the right time.

“ _Smug_ uppity Padawan,” Obi-Wan reiterated with a half-hearted scowl.

Qui-Gon couldn’t get the door to his quarters shut quickly enough. Obi-Wan pounced from behind, unlatching Qui-Gon’s belt and pulling tabards free, trying to remove Qui-Gon’s toxic uniform as quickly as possible.

Somewhere in the midst of stripping, Qui-Gon turned and was kissing Obi-Wan again, both of their hands fumbling at each other but not accomplishing much other than getting tangled in cloth.

Obi-Wan smiled against his lips. “This isn’t working. You take off your clothes, and I’ll take off mine.”

Qui-Gon would rather it was the opposite, but practicality won out. “Good idea,” he said, after delivering another kiss. It was far easier for him to deal with his tunics and their noticeable funk. By the time he’d divested himself of his clothing and gladly dumped the whole of it down the laundry chute, Obi-Wan was free of his shirt but still wrestling to remove the wet pants. They were leather trousers, not thick-cloth, a fact that Qui-Gon hadn’t noticed before. He picked them up when Obi-Wan discarded them on the floor with a final, triumphant exclamation. Even wet, the leather was soft under his fingertips. It was quality material; not the most expensive leather, but not cheap, either.

“Closet sensualist,” he murmured.

“You, or me?” Obi-Wan asked, looking defensive. His partner was disinclined to spend credits, a habit formed after an admitted too many dances with possible starvation from lack of funds and resources. That he’d purchased something like this spoke volumes about preference.

“Perhaps we both are,” Qui-Gon said, hanging the leather on a robe hook to dry. “I like them.”

The wariness faded from Obi-Wan’s eyes, and he reached out to accept the hand that Qui-Gon offered. Qui-Gon tugged him into the orange glow of light coming through the windows, soaking in the sight of his partner’s nude body. They had both seen each other naked before—their work often meant that privacy was a thin sheet, the opposite side of a tree, or nothing at all—but this was about having permission to look, and to feel. Qui-Gon ran his hands down Obi-Wan’s arms, feeling gooseflesh on his water-cooled skin. He then grasped the column of flesh that was rising to meet his hand, and Obi-Wan bit his lip, making a strangled sound that made both Qui-Gon’s heart and cock leap.

Obi-Wan shuddered and swallowed, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips before he spoke. “Qui, I have waited for a moment like this for a long, long time. If you make me wait any longer, if you keep _teasing_ , I will go insane, and I promise to take you with me.”

“I don’t think I have much to worry about,” Qui-Gon said, amused. “As I understand it, there hasn’t been a lack of sexual partners in your life.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze saddened. “A few, yes. But they were not _you._ ”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. The truth and the lingering pain in that statement was enough to make any remaining doubts just fall away. He took a step and then their arms were wrapped around each other, a tight embrace that was just shy of pain. Qui-Gon lowered his head on instinct, meeting lips that were warm and pliant against his own. It was heat and closeness and skin, contact being demanded after years of never really touching at all.

Obi-Wan’s tongue licked a hot edge against his lips, a teasing assault that almost caused Qui-Gon’s knees to buckle. Obi-Wan’s hands plunged into his hair and pulled him closer, his lips parting with a soft, blissful sigh when Qui-Gon sealed their mouths together. Obi-Wan’s tongue darted its way inside his mouth, tasting and exploring.

Qui-Gon moaned when Obi-Wan’s hand unexpectedly found its way to his cock, giving him not a squeeze, but a ghostly, teasing touch that still captured all of his attention. “Gods, love,” he whispered, and then grasped Obi-Wan’s face in both hands, taking control of the kiss. Their tongues slid together, the kiss lasting long, pleasurable minutes. It had been so damned long, so long without knowing an intimate touch, and longer still since the intimate touch came from one he loved.

The kiss broke. They stared at each other, breathing heavily, and then Obi-Wan’s fingertips drifted in a gentle slide down Qui-Gon’s face. “I would stay with you for as long as you would have me,” Obi-Wan said in a soft voice. There was promise in his words, but delight shone in his eyes.

“Forever?” Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan smiled. “Let’s get through tonight, first,” he said, taking Qui-Gon’s hand and pulling him in the direction of his bedroom.

They didn’t make it to the bed before Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan close again, tracing the outline of his jaw, letting his fingers drift down the sides of Obi-Wan’s neck. Obi-Wan heaved a sigh, eyes half-closing in pleasure. Qui-Gon smiled at the sight, then bent forward and touched his lips to Obi-Wan’s ear, emitting a soft, warm breath. That earned him a shiver; Qui-Gon ran his tongue along the outer edge of his ear, dropped a swift nip to Obi-Wan’s earlobe, and then traced a line down his neck. Obi-Wan trembled, then sucked in a startled breath when Qui-Gon blew air across that hot, wet line.

Obi-Wan pulled him down, giving Qui-Gon’s shoulder a sharp, brief bite, before he soothed the pain with his tongue. A gentler nip was given to the column of his throat, making Qui-Gon’s hips jerk in reaction before that bite, too, was soothed with lips and breath. Warmth flooded his limbs, pooled in his belly, and made every touch feel like it was creating sparks.

“Qui,” Obi-Wan whispered, breathing his name against his skin.

Qui-Gon ducked his head, kissing the hollow of Obi-Wan’s throat. He continued to tease sensitive skin with tongue and teeth, smiling when he was rewarded with a strangled gasp. Then he bit gently onto the hard line of Obi-Wan’s collarbone. The resulting long, low moan went straight to his cock.

Obi-Wan arched up against him, murmuring words in several different languages, most unrecognizable. Qui-Gon let his hands drift lower to caress Obi-Wan’s chest, intrigued by the feel of sparse ginger curls under his fingers. He dragged his thumb over an erect nipple, smiling and gratified when Obi-Wan’s unknown litany turned into a hoarse shout. Qui-Gon pressed his head against Obi-Wan’s chest and repeated his lover’s name against the skin over his heart.

Obi-Wan wrapped him in an unexpected embrace, holding them together in that position. “I love you,” he said.

“And I you,” Qui-Gon replied, feeling his heart beat faster at the reminder. “Bed?”

“Certainly.” Obi-Wan grabbed Qui-Gon’s hands and pulled them forward until they fell down onto the bed together. Qui-Gon wound up on top, and wasted no time in melding their lips together once more, a kiss that was returned fiercely enough for teeth to clash. Qui-Gon tasted blood but didn’t mind, and then forgot the temporary discomfort entirely when Obi-Wan’s nails skimmed his back. Qui-Gon bit his lip, shaking from the intensity granted by the single act.

“Wait,” he begged, trying to get the words out. “If you…if you keep doing that, I’m not going to last.”

“Maybe that’s the idea?” Obi-Wan asked, giving him an impish smile.

Qui-Gon rested his hand on Obi-Wan’s cheek, thumb caressing Obi-Wan’s lips. “Believe me, the idea is tempting, but we do need to sleep at some point.”

Obi-Wan kissed the pad of his thumb. “Then what do you have in mind?”

Qui-Gon bent his head to nip at Obi-Wan’s throat again, a gentler, slower action than before. “When did you know?”

Obi-Wan caught on immediately. “You want to talk about that right _now?_ ” he asked, and laughed when Qui-Gon’s beard tickled the sensitive skin at the side of his neck.

Qui-Gon continued to nibble, delighted by his partner’s short, panted breaths. “I couldn’t think of a more appropriate time.”

Obi-Wan wiggled his way backwards so that he could sit up enough for their eyes to meet. “You want to know when it was that I first realized I loved you.”

“Well, I’m inquisitive,” Qui-Gon murmured, taking advantage of the new position to kiss Obi-Wan, a slow glide of their lips, only the barest hint of his tongue. “You should know that by now.”

“Well, yes, but—” Obi-Wan’s words faltered as Qui-Gon allowed his hands to drift downward. Qui-Gon could feel the muscles in his stomach jump and twitch in response to the feathery touches.

Obi-Wan swallowed, high spots of color burning in his cheeks. “Taro Tre. Just after Taro Tre.”

“Was it?” Qui-Gon ghosted his hands back up Obi-Wan’s chest. He let his fingers circle both nipples but did not touch. The lack of action earned him a glare that was ruined by Obi-Wan’s lip twitching up in a smile. “Which time?”

Obi-Wan began carding his fingers through the long fall of Qui-Gon’s still-damp hair. “The first time. I awoke in the Ward, and the first thing I saw was you. Given your unkempt state, I knew I must have been there for several days…but you had waited there for me the entire time.”

“Unkempt?” Qui-Gon repeated, amused. He had taken a bit more care with his grooming during Obi-Wan’s extended stay in the Ward, if only to keep Terza, Mace, and Yoda from dragging him off to a shower every day.

“Your hair was tangled. Your face was…gaunt, and I knew you hadn’t been sleeping right. You looked terrible.” Obi-Wan smiled in remembrance. “You were so afraid for me, and the relief in your eyes when I spoke to you…I just knew. Right then, I knew.” Obi-Wan grinned, and then gasped when his nipple was unexpectedly given a gentle tug. “And in the next moment, I gave quite the inner wail of despair.”

“Despair? Did it pain you so much, to find yourself in love with a man so much older than yourself?” Qui-Gon asked, reaching down to clasp his lover’s rising erection.

Obi-Wan choked on whatever answer he had been about to give, arching up against him. “Qui!”

“I suppose that’s not it.” Qui-Gon grinned, feeling merciless as he gave Obi-Wan’s cock a torturously slow stroke. “What is it, then?”

Obi-Wan whimpered, trying to keep his eyes from fluttering shut. “Going to hit you with something,” he muttered. “Two pesky facts, Qui: I was only sixteen, and there is that line in the Code that says attachments are forbidden to Padawans.” Qui-Gon tightened his grip, and Obi-Wan dropped his head back with a deep groan.

Qui-Gon let out a surprised yelp when he felt phantom fingers begin to touch his body in places that Obi-Wan’s hands were not capable of reaching. “Obi-Wan!”

“Fair is fair,” Obi-Wan countered with a playful smile. His eyes cracked open to watch Qui-Gon writhe under the unexpected assault. “You’re always complimenting me on my fine control of the Force.”

“Yes, but—ooohhh.” Qui-Gon’s sentence devolved into a long, pleasured exhalation as real, warm hands settled on his cock and began to stroke him.

“And when, my beautiful Master, did you know?” Obi-Wan breathed the question into Qui-Gon’s ear, making him shiver.

“I haven’t mentioned that yet?” he asked shakily. Then those same phantom fingers circumvented the usual route and brushed against his prostate. Qui-Gon’s head fell forward, trying to breathe through the unexpectedly sharp pleasure.

“Not yet, no.” Obi-Wan scooted downwards, nuzzling Qui-Gon’s neck without moving his hands or ending any of the invisible contact points. Qui-Gon smiled in the midst of his pleasured daze; his renewed attack on Obi-Wan’s cock left Obi-Wan panting against his throat, heat and hot air tickling Qui-Gon’s neck.

“Specifics…well.” Qui-Gon cleared his throat, trying to maintain enough higher brain function to answer. “It’s all Jawa’s fault.”

“Jawa? Who—the _snake?_ ” Hands and contact points both stilled as Obi-Wan paused in surprise. “What the hell does a snake have to do with anything?”

“Er, well.” Qui-Gon shifted, uncomfortable but also desperately wanting the hands that entrapped him to move. “He…well, he got to touch you more than I ever had.”

“Wait. Let me get this straight.”

Qui-Gon emitted a startled cry as Obi-Wan flipped them over without warning. The young man pinned him to the bed, grinning into Qui-Gon’s upturned face. “The great Jedi Master, Qui-Gon Jinn…was jealous of a reptile?”

“With good reason.” Qui-Gon grinned back.

“Oh…” Obi-Wan lowered himself down, his eyes drifting shut in pleasure as their erections met and rubbed together. “What…what reason is that?”

“Body heat,” Qui-Gon answered. He thrust up, synapses firing off in response to Obi-Wan’s throaty groan of pleasure.

Lust-filled green eyes gazed down at him. It was a predatory look, but Qui-Gon found that he didn’t mind in the least. “I want to be inside you,” Obi-Wan whispered, treating Qui-Gon’s lips to a quick, cat-like lick.

Everything in Qui-Gon’s head temporarily vacated. “Please?”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Yes,” he said, just before Qui-Gon pulled him down into another heated kiss, one that all but stole his breath. He yanked one hand free and stretched, fumbling until he found the bedside table. There was a bottle of oil some damned where—there. His fingers grasped it just before Qui-Gon was going to give up and call the damned thing to him with the Force. He presented it to Obi-Wan, who took the bottle from him and uncapped it as he sat up.

“Smells like desert winter,” Obi-Wan said, a faraway look in his eyes. “When the native plants bloom.” He glanced down at Qui-Gon, who was starting to wonder if he was going to have to get up and tear half of his quarters apart to try and find a bottle with a different scent. “It’s perfect.”

Obi-Wan tilted the bottle, spilling a generous amount of it onto his fingers. Then he regarded Qui-Gon, his slow smile sending a new rush of heat and fire through Qui-Gon’s veins. Qui-Gon gasped when one oil-coated finger traced around the entrance to his body. “Force, but that’s cold!” he groused, bending his knee and resting his foot on the mattress.

“I told you I'd get you for dumping cold oil on me,” Obi-Wan whispered with a wicked smile. Qui-Gon understood the intent behind the expression when those phantom fingers touched deep inside of him again, impossibly so, and gods, but it felt _wonderful._

“How long has it been since you’ve done this?” Obi-Wan asked. Fingers had dipped within him, one at a time, but there had been no real penetration. Teasing bastard.

Qui-Gon didn’t even remember. “Long enough,” he said, “but not so long ago that I will break.”

Obi-Wan kissed Qui-Gon’s knee and then, finally, pressed two fingers into him in a slow, careful glide. Qui-Gon forced himself to relax, resisting the urge to bear down and drive those fingers deeper. Then those damned teasing phantom fingers raced along his prostate, and he stopped caring about slow or careful. Obi-Wan bit his lip against a pleased smile and obliged, pressing deeper.

Qui-Gon’s eyes rolled back in response. The sensation was so intense that he was having trouble remembering to breathe. Obi-Wan pulled back; Qui-Gon treated him to a wounded look until Obi-Wan smirked at him, wiggled three glistening fingers, and pushed them inside.

“Oh, gods,” he whispered. The slow back-and-forth movement was making his toes curl and hot sparks dance along his nerves. Qui-Gon clenched the sheets with both hands as his partner proceeded to try and drive him mad.

Obi-Wan pulled his fingers free. At first, the lack of sensation was so annoying that Qui-Gon glared up at him. Obi-Wan only shook his head and grinned back before leaning forward. He kissed him, a gentle press of lips together, and then whispered into Qui-Gon’s mouth, “Roll onto your side.”

Qui-Gon smiled back and pulled his partner and mate into a deeper kiss before complying. “What are you up to?”

“Experiment based upon earlier reactions,” Obi-Wan replied, sounding far too smug.

Qui-Gon’s skin was so sensitive to touch that Obi-Wan’s body, brushing against him made all of the hair on his arms and legs stand on end. “Yes, but what experiment?” he asked, and then gasped, wide-eyed, as Obi-Wan’s tongue traced up his spine. Qui-Gon was almost certain that he’d never been that hard in his _life._

“That one,” Obi-Wan replied, chuckling. “What a lovely erogenous zone.”

“How did you—” and then Qui-Gon lost language as Obi-Wan entered him in one slow thrust. He gulped in a breath after realizing he’d forgotten to breathe again. Obi-Wan wrapped his arm around Qui-Gon’s chest; Qui-Gon grasped his hand, leaving them fully entwined. Obi-Wan’s face and chest were resting against Qui-Gon’s back; his breath stirred Qui-Gon’s hair.

The Force sang at the rightness of this joining. Even it seemed to be prodding at him, as if to ask, _What took you so long?_

“Move, please,” Qui-Gon said at last. “Please. I just want to feel this—”

The arm wrapped around his chest tightened, and he could sense Obi-Wan’s delight. “Whatever you wish,” he said. He drew his hips back, almost leaving him entirely, and then thrust forward, the angle so damned perfect that Qui-Gon felt his mouth fall open, keening with every slowly kindled spark. He was lost; the feel of pressure and friction and slickness was overwhelming after so many years of letting no one touch him like this.

“Holy _gods,_ Qui,” Obi-Wan gasped, his grip on Qui-Gon’s hand tightening to the point of pain. He uttered a low-pitched groan, almost a growl, and nipped at the skin of Qui-Gon’s back before licking the sting away.

“Faster, please, just—dammit, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon managed, frustrated.

“Yes,” was his answering whisper, and their pace picked up. Qui-Gon felt all the pores on his skin bloom open in response, prickling like electrical bites as they managed to find a rhythm together.

It felt wonderful, and he was so damned close to the edge that he was shaking. “I’m—”

The words were a quiet nuzzle against his skin. “Come with me.”

Qui-Gon gave a strangled cry and came, hips juddering as he spent himself onto the bed. Obi-Wan’s hand clamped down on Qui-Gon’s hip hard enough to bruise. He let out a soft cry that might have been Qui-Gon’s name, thrusting into him a few more times as his orgasm was wrung from him.

They lay together in a twist of sweaty limbs, panting for breath. Obi-Wan had his face still pressed against Qui-Gon’s back, his hand spasmodically clenching and releasing the edge of Qui-Gon’s hip bone.

Qui-Gon raised a shaking hand to his eyes, wiping away the tears that he found there. “Oh, gods,” he whispered, utterly done in. “My Obi-Wan, what have you done to me?”

Obi-Wan rolled away from him, with only a faint burn as they separated. Qui-Gon turned over and found Obi-Wan in not much better shape than he was. Obi-Wan bit his lip at the sight of Qui-Gon’s curious stare and rubbed his red, streaming eyes.

“Trust me, it’s two-fold,” Obi-Wan said in a rough voice.

Qui-Gon scooted forward so that he could take Obi-Wan into his arms. Obi-Wan tucked his head in beneath Qui-Gon’s chin, and they clung to each other until Qui-Gon felt less emotionally hammered.

“Are you all right?”

“I am,” Obi-Wan said at last, though he still seemed to be sniffing back tears. “I just—”

“You said you’d waited a lifetime for this.” Qui-Gon nuzzled Obi-Wan’s hair. “I think it’s an understandable reaction.”

“Happy is not supposed to mean horrendous weeping,” Obi-Wan groused.

Qui-Gon laughed. “No, but sometimes I think it does.”

“I love you,” Obi-Wan said, after considerable pause. “I really do. I have for almost forty-seven years now. So, I desperately hope that this is not a short-term whim on your part, because I do not let go easily.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “No fear of that. I might not have forty-seven years of time to claim, but you have been _life_ to me for many years now. I love you; I am in no hurry to give that up.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Obi-Wan knew that he was dreaming, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop it—to escape what he knew was coming. It would have been logical to flee, but there were so many damned emotional knots around this moment, and they always bound him in place.

The dream was a memory, and it was always the same. He was stalking back and forth, willing the blasted red shielding to cycle so that he could rejoin his Master. His long Padawan braid flew out behind him as he paced, unable to keep still or even pretend to emulate Qui-Gon’s determined calm. How Qui-Gon could stop to meditate in the midst of a fucking battle with a Sith, Obi-Wan couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

The shields cycled; Obi-Wan’s lip curled in an involuntary snarl as he prepared to run. He saw Qui-Gon leap to his feet as the shield blocking him from the Sith vanished, but then Qui-Gon halted in surprise.

The Sith was no longer present…but someone else was. Just as Dark, the black-garbed figure’s features were hidden by a hooded cloak. He raised his lightsaber, impossibly fast, a perfect strike.

Obi-Wan screamed—too little, too late. The red lightsaber pierced Qui-Gon’s chest when his Master was unable to react in time to this new player. He slumped and then fell when the blade was yanked free.

Obi-Wan stared, horrified, as the Dark One raised his head. Eyes gone yellow with corruption stared into his own; his laughter could barely be heard over the roaring in Obi-Wan’s ears.

 _Enough, enough!_ Obi-Wan forced himself to awaken. He was staring up into the darkness of Qui-Gon’s bedroom, in the Jedi Temple, on Coruscant—not Naboo. Obi-Wan instinctively reached out for his partner and his fingers encountered fabric, not bare skin. He sat up in surprise, confusing quickly turning to alarm.

There was a stink of burnt ozone in the air, almost as if the scent had followed him from the dream. Beside him, Qui-Gon was fully dressed, his long hair fanning the pillow. The streaks of gray were easily discernable, even in the dim light.

Obi-Wan moaned, gripped by familiar fear. With one hand pressed to his mouth, he pulled back the sheet that covered Qui-Gon, catching sight of the lightsaber wound that marred Qui-Gon’s body.

Steel-blue eyes snapped open, staring up at Obi-Wan, dark and cold. “Foolish boy,” the thing beside him whispered in a voice full of wrath. “There are some things that you are never going to understand.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Qui-Gon snapped awake with a hiss of indrawn breath when one of Obi-Wan’s elbows jammed itself into his ribs. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, not the way they often traveled, but he wasn’t used to it happening when he was at home and in his own bed.

There was an almost tangible air of anxiety, of _horror_ , filling the room.

 _Force,_ Qui-Gon thought, as he realized the source of the sour miasma. Obi-Wan was caught in a nightmare—a bad one, if the agonized look on his face was any indication.

Before he could decide to act on it, Obi-Wan sat bolt upright in bed with a choked scream. He took a shrill breath and then shoved his hand into his mouth, biting down as a second, terrified scream lodged itself in Obi-Wan’s throat.

 _Gods_. Qui-Gon had seen the nightmare cycle through, more than once, but this seemed particularly vile. He sat up and wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan, who was shock-cold and trembling.

It was a long time before the shaking eased, before Obi-Wan released a ragged sigh and relaxed against him. Qui-Gon ran his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair until the worst of the anxiety had dissipated.

“What was it?” he asked.

Obi-Wan shook his head without looking up. “I don’t know, I—I can’t remember.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “The cycle?”

“Oh, it had better not be,” Obi-Wan growled. “It’s far too damned early.” He sighed again. “I think my brain is trying to kill me.”

Qui-Gon received a jumbled, unintentional broadcast of sensation—comfort, warmth, stiff pain in the neck. All of that was accompanied by a disjointed string of thought: _peaceful afterwards/unusual/used to having to deal with this alone._

“You never have to do that again, you know,” Qui-Gon murmured the words against Obi-Wan’s hair. “I will always be here for you, if you wish it.”

Obi-Wan sat up and turned around to face him, staring into Qui-Gon’s eyes. “I do wish it,” he said in a soft voice.

Qui-Gon smiled, unable to disguise the happiness that Obi-Wan’s words had given him. There had been a promise inherent in his response, hinting at a desire for a deeper connection. “Then lie down with me, love, and let me hold you as you sleep. Let me keep the dreams at bay for once.”

Obi-Wan fell asleep within a few minutes. Qui-Gon resettled his head on the pillow, wrapping his arm more tightly around Obi-Wan’s chest. He stayed awake for a time, but whatever had plagued Obi-Wan’s sleep did not seem intent upon a repeat performance.

It wasn’t just watchfulness that kept him awake. Obi-Wan had said he didn’t remember what he’d dreamed of, and Qui-Gon believed him, but he’d be damned if it wasn’t something related to Naboo.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Qui-Gon started awake, momentarily confused both by the amount of light in his room, and the otherwise empty bed. Then he heard the clatter of ceramic against countertop, followed by his partner’s muttered swearing. It was a familiar combination of sounds, though not one he often heard in his own home.

Qui-Gon smiled. As far as introductions to the day went, this was one he could quickly get used to.

In the kitchen, he found Obi-Wan dressed in tunics and trousers—not the leather—and sitting at the table, giving the reader on the tabletop a look of intense curiosity. “Where did those come from?” Qui-Gon asked, accepting the mug of dark green tea that Obi-Wan handed him. The tea was nice, but the kiss was better, especially when it was followed by Obi-Wan’s bright-eyed, impish smile.

“Thank the quartermaster, and his willful insistence upon ignoring our current addresses,” Obi-Wan said, tilting his head in the direction of a laundry crate sitting in the living room. “It must have been delivered while we were out playing in the desert.”

“Of course it was.” Qui-Gon sipped his tea and regarded his partner, who had resumed his perusal of the data pad.

Obi-Wan glanced up after a moment, aware of the scrutiny. “What is it?”

“I am desperately trying to resist the urge to ask you to move in with me.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “I think the only people in the Temple who wouldn’t think it a sudden choice are the two of us.”

“Is that a yes?” Qui-Gon asked, resting his fingertips on the back of Obi-Wan’s left hand.

“It’s a yes with a provision attached,” Obi-Wan replied, smile turning wry. “I don’t think Anakin will protest, but it’s still polite to ask if he would mind the shuffle.”

“Fair enough.” Qui-Gon turned his focus back to his tea for a moment, if only because otherwise he was going to forget it entirely in lieu of being stupidly, spectacularly happy. “What are you reading?”

Obi-Wan handed over the datapad, that curiously intent look making another appearance. “This.”

Qui-Gon scrolled through the news listings, noting content by title or summary. Coruscant was still buzzing with the news of the Trade Federation’s blockade of Naboo. Most of the threads centered around the fact that the Senate seemed utterly unwilling to even speak of the problem, let alone act on it. Qui-Gon was pleased to see Finis take advantage of the stonewalling; the man had given another conference an hour ago, reiterating his word to assist the Naboo while castigating the Senate for its lack of action.

“Is it different?” he asked, handing the pad back to his partner.

Obi-Wan bit his lip before answering. “It’s _very_ different,” he said. “Enough so that I am cautiously optimistic about our return to Naboo not being an utter clusterfuck.”

When they went to see Micah Giett, the other Master was far less sanguine about the situation. He was pacing back and forth across his living room, brace jangling and staff thumping with every emphatic step. “Are they so used to inaction that they can’t even be bothered to lift their fingers, even for their beloved popularity?”

“Mic, they’re politicians,” Qui-Gon said. “Right now, they’re trying to figure out which option will serve them best.” He noted that Micah’s limp was growing more and more pronounced. “Please, sit down before you fall down.

Micah glared at him and then winced as the pain made itself known. “Fine,” he huffed, hobbling his way over to sit in the nearest chair. Qui-Gon felt a brief pang of sadness; despite the Healers’ optimism, the injury from Yinchorr hadn’t healed well, no matter how much grafting and physical therapy was thrown at it.

Obi-Wan was sitting at Qui-Gon’s back, staring out of Micah and Tahl’s living room window. The Senate Dome was visible on this side of the Temple, as well, and it captured much of his partner’s attention.

Obi-Wan surprised them both when he said, “At least they didn’t call the vote to elect a new Chancellor.”

Qui-Gon exchanged looks with Micah. “What did happen?” Qui-Gon asked. They were past the point of the event in question, and Obi-Wan would often fill in those missing blanks after the fact.

“By twelfth hour today, we had a new Chancellor. Didn’t do the Naboo any good—or anyone else, for that matter,” Obi-Wan added. “Whatever you said to Valorum yesterday seems to have helped.”

Micah gave Qui-Gon a narrow-eyed look. “And this is coming from the man who always bitched at _me_ about neutrality?”

Qui-Gon shrugged. “Self-preservation overrides political neutrality in my book.”

Obi-Wan hopped down from the back of the couch and came around to face them. “Where’s Tahl? She was supposed to be back on Coruscant before us.”

Qui-Gon and Micah shared another glance. They probably looked about as subtle as Mynocks in heat. Obi-Wan knew that Tahl had been taking Bant Eerin out on research trips, but not the purpose of those missions. Qui-Gon was leery about telling his partner what Terza had found in his midichlorian count, much less the prophecy research crumbs that Tahl was hunting for.

“She was supposed to be, yes,” Micah answered finally. “But then she found a new lead, sent me a blunt little message that our bank account was going to dwindle, and headed on to Morous IV. Said they’ve got a fantastic archive there.”

“That they do,” Obi-Wan agreed in a mild voice. “What is she looking for?”

Micah looked Qui-Gon, one eyebrow raised. _What could it hurt?_ he sent along their own pairbond.

 _At this juncture? Not much,_ Qui-Gon admitted.

Aloud, Micah said, “She’s been researching the Prophecy of the Chosen One pretty much since Qui-Gon cut your braid.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I thought she might,” he said, smiling. “She’s been looking at me as if she would _desperately_ love to talk about something, but then never brings it up. I assume there’s been a reason you didn’t want me to know?” His expression was neutral, but there was a hint of something elusive in the pairbond. “I’ve been curious about it, myself, but there hasn’t been much time for research.”

Obi-Wan looked unhappy, and Qui-Gon suddenly found he could put a name to the elusiveness—it was the self-directed anger that Obi-Wan had felt yesterday during landing.

 _Damn,_ he thought, feeling a sharp twist of foreboding. What trouble had their urge for secrecy already created?

“Obi-Wan—” Micah started to say, but Qui-Gon stood and raised his hand, cutting him off. The time for discretion in this matter was over. “Mic, it was my decision. I’ll tell him.”

“Tell me what?” Obi-Wan asked, looking at each of them in turn, brow furrowed. “What in the Force have you been keeping from me? It had better have been with good reason, dammit, or I’ll—” he glared at Qui-Gon, “—I’ll burn those pants!”

The threat made him smile. “Do you remember when Terza took Anakin’s midichlorian count when we brought him to the Temple?” Obi-Wan nodded. “She took yours, as well.”

“Well, yes,” Obi-Wan said, confused. “She said she needed a…” he trailed off, a dawning look of comprehension in his eyes. “How different?”

Qui-Gon wished that he didn’t have to say. It would be so much easier for both of them if he’d never known, if Terza had taken that information to the Council on her own. “Twenty-two thousand.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. “Twenty-two….” He looked away, heaving an agitated sigh. “Well. I suppose saying that it isn’t possible would be a pointless exercise, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose it would,” Qui-Gon agreed, lifting his arms in invitation. Obi-Wan came to him and stepped in close, allowing himself to be held. His body was a line of tension in Qui-Gon’s arms, one just barely soothed by Qui-Gon’s hands resting on his back.

“Damn!” Micah blurted in disgust. “I lost the bet.”

Qui-Gon glared at Micah for his bad timing while Obi-Wan sputtered laughter into his tunics. He glanced down at Obi-Wan when Micah remained unrepentant. “Are you all right?”

Obi-Wan rested his head against Qui-Gon’s chest, taking several deep breaths. “I’ll be fine. To be honest, after the initial shock I’m not even sure if I’m really surprised. I sort of got used to strange things happening to me some time ago.”

 _So does this mean I get to keep the pants?_ Qui-Gon asked.

Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan’s amusement. _Yes, you may keep the leather._

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Obi-Wan asked aloud.

“I decided not to tell you at first because I thought, after everything that had happened, you might need time to adjust. After that, I didn’t tell you because we were no longer sure what it meant.” Qui-Gon smiled. “Or perhaps it’s because you know so blasted much. The rest of us mortals wanted to be able to keep _some_ secrets.”

 _Come on, then._ Obi-Wan tugged on Qui-Gon’s hand, leading him towards Micah’s couch to sit. “I need you both to tell me what Tahl has found so far.”

It didn’t take long to review Tahl’s findings. Even those who were privy to all of the information didn’t know much more than what was already in the Archives.

Obi-Wan leaned back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression. “You know, I would almost swear that it all sounds familiar.”

“Anything specific?” Micah asked, rotating his walking staff in his hands as he performed an abbreviated kata. “Tahl could sure use a hint at this point.”

“I—no. Sorry.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “But, if you’re right about the concept of the Three, then I’m willing to bet that there’s someone else running around the galaxy with a higher than average midichlorian count.”

Micah made a disgruntled face. “None of us had thought of that at all. Damn.”

Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan. The idea of anyone else suffering through nightmares and dreams and decades of memory they hadn’t yet lived had horrified Shmi and Qui-Gon both from the very beginning, and time had not lessened the feeling. “Any idea who it could be?”

Obi-Wan lifted his hands in dismay. “I don’t know. This is as new to me as it is to you, and I’m not about to go around poking everyone I meet with a blood analyzer to find out.” He stood up, stretching once before pulling his tunics back into place. “I need to go. I promised Anakin that I would meet him for lunch.”

“Would you like some company?” Qui-Gon offered.

“Thank you anyway, but Master Giett has that scheming look on his face,” Obi-Wan replied. “I’ll leave you to his tender mercies.”

Qui-Gon gave him a feigned mournful look. “Abandoning me already.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow before leaning over Qui-Gon, kissing him, long and deep, in front of a completely boggled Micah. _Never._

Qui-Gon watched him leave, thinking that he must look utterly besotted. Force, but the man could kiss.

Micah snickered the moment the door closed. “I should have guessed. You looked far too happy when you walked in my door this morning.”

“I _am_ far too happy,” Qui-Gon admitted, resting his hands on his knees as he leaned forward. “Happy, but worried. Obi-Wan is angry about something, and has been since we got back to Coruscant.” Obi-Wan had promised to speak of it; Qui-Gon just wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “I’m almost certain that it’s about the Sith.”

Micah nodded. “I hope not, but I wouldn’t be surprised. Adi told me what happened in the Council Chamber, by the way. That shielding sounds damned useful.”

“You weren’t there, Mic.” Qui-Gon leaned back, crossing his arms at the remembered chill. “It’s—it’s horrifying. No one should cut themselves off from the Force like that. It’s unnatural.”

Micah seemed amused. “I don’t think that’s what he did, Qui-Gon. Does Obi-Wan really strike you as someone who would willingly cut himself off from the Force?”

“I—” Qui-Gon sighed. “No. You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right!” Micah slammed his staff down on the floor with enough force to rattle the shelving. “I’m not a Combat Master for nothing. You take away your enemy’s advantages, not your own. I say he didn’t cut himself off form the Force—I’d bet that he hid within it, and I’m going to ask him to teach me how to do it.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “Why, so you can hide from your enemies and then bash them with that stick of yours as they walk by?”

“Hell, yes.” Micah’s smile was all teeth. “That sounds like a fantastic idea.”

Qui-Gon hesitated. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” Micah shouted back. “Teaching the A.L.T. class is great, Qui-Gon, don’t get me wrong,” he said in a quieter voice. “But I’m oh, so bored, and have been for quite some time. My mate has been useful for years, despite what happened to her. I think it’s time that I was useful again, too.”

Qui-Gon gave Micah a thoughtful look. “Perhaps it is. What about Garen?”

“Garen will think it’s a great idea,” Micah replied, his expression becoming fond. “My Padawan may spend all of his time becoming one of the best pilots the Temple has, but I’d still like another field mission or two with him before his Trials. Besides, then there’s someone with me who can save my ass if something goes wrong.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Obi-Wan shook his head in silent, opinionated disgust and pushed away his empty tray. There hadn’t been much on it to begin with, but even those few samplings had reminded him of why he stood by his opinion on commissary food. The toast he’d pilfered from Qui-Gon’s quarters had more flavor.

“What are your plans for the day?” he asked his companion. “As far as I remember, you have a free afternoon.”

Anakin did not share Obi-Wan’s reservations about the commissary’s culinary lackings. He was working on his second tray, and the rate at which he was consuming food would have put a grown man into a stupor. Obi-Wan suspected a long-delayed growth spurt.

“Well, we’re still technically mission-bound, so I can’t just wander off,” Anakin said, after washing down what he’d been chewing. “I was thinking of going to the crèche to play with my friends.”

 _That sounds nice,_ Obi-Wan thought, a touch wistfully. Visiting friends sounded far less stressful than brooding over politics. “They do have classes of their own, though.”

“Yeah, but I checked with Terrilanar, and she said it was okay if I volunteered to help her with the rest of the Falcons.” Anakin shoveled more food into his mouth, almost as if he was afraid it was going to go away. After taking a breath, he said, “I missed them, _and_ the rumor mill is that Saini is going to be Chosen soon. I wanna see her before it’s just about impossible to catch her in the Temple.”

Obi-Wan grinned, well aware of whom Saini Ella’s Master was going to be. “I’m not going to stop you, Ani. You deserve some free time—take it while you can get it.”

“Will do,” Anakin said, not needing any further encouragement. “Hey, Master?”

“Yes?” Obi-Wan swirled what was left of the water in his glass, wondering if he dared sample the commissary’s tea.

Anakin hesitated. “You and Master Qui-Gon—are you guys…you know. Is everything going to be okay?”

“Wanting to know if your scheming bore fruit, are you?” Obi-Wan asked, smiling.

“Duh,” Anakin said. “Did it?”

“If I asked how you felt about moving, what would you say?”

Anakin shoved his tray aside and lunged across the table to hug him. Obi-Wan held onto his Padawan, ignoring a few disapproving stares. Hidebound idiots.

Anakin dropped back down onto his chair. “I’m being a smart ass if I say, ‘Finally!’ right?” he asked with another wide grin.

“A bit,” Obi-Wan replied, holding his thumb and forefinger close together but not quite touching. “Try to keep the smart-assery in decorous bounds, Padawan.”

“Yes, Master,” Anakin agreed, his smile not dimming an iota. “Do you know when we’re going back to Naboo? I guess we probably shouldn’t pack before that’s done.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth and then caught himself. “Do you think we should?” he asked in a mild voice.

“Well, yeah,” Anakin said, eyebrows drawing together. “If we’re going to get the Trade Federation off of Naboo, we have to go back. Besides, if the Naboo and the Gungans don’t make peace, Jar Jar’s never going to be able to go home.”

Obi-Wan sat back in his chair, giving his Padawan a regretful stare. “You remember.”

Anakin ducked his head. “Not everything,” he said in apology, “not even close. But this is—it was really important last time. I remember a lot more of the Naboo stuff as we’ve done it.” He raised his eyes cautiously to look at Obi-Wan. “You’re not mad, are you?”

Obi-Wan held back a sigh. “No, Anakin. I’m not mad. I’m concerned.” _I never wanted you to be trapped with your memories the same way that I am._

“Well, you don’t have to be,” Anakin pointed out. “If I know what’s going to happen, I can be prepared when it does, and then run in the opposite direction.”

Obi-Wan attempted to smile. “I suppose so. You should get going, then. You’re going to want to change clothes before going down to the crèche. I have also heard that the Falcons are meant to help the little ones paint today.”

Anakin made a face. “Green. Green _everywhere_ ,” he said, snagging his and Obi-Wan’s trays. “If something happens and you need me, I can come running, but the Council chamber might get paint splatters on the floor.”

Obi-Wan waved him off, amused. He watched as Anakin returned both trays before leaving the commissary, just barely quashing the urge to run for the lifts.

He was thinking of making his own escape when he was boxed in. Abella sat down at his left, while Garen Muln sat to his right. Before Obi-Wan could comment on the sudden close seating arrangements, Reeft and Aalto de’Ya took the seats directly across from him.

“I do believe I’ve been ambushed,” Obi-Wan said.

Aalto gave him a broad grin. The young man still had moments of temper, but Davrin’s departure from the Temple had done a lot to repair old damage and animosities. “Of course it’s an ambush,” he said. “You’re always involved in the fun stuff, Kenobi, and we want the details that haven’t hit the daily reports.”

Garen elbowed Obi-Wan, who let out a faint _woof_ of air. Garen’s size meant that even his lightest gestures could land harder than he intended. “Yep! Us poor, pitiful Padawans don’t rate the exciting stuff. By the way, would you like some caff? A lot of it?”

Obi-Wan noted the mug of steaming, vile-brewed black caff clenched in Garen’s hand. “Given the look in your eyes, I think you’d stab me if I tried to take it from you. Gods, Garen, how much have you _had?_ ”

“Of this?” Garen took a long drink, decimating half of the mug’s contents. “That depends. What day is this? I think I’ve lost track.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “What the hell are you doing?”

Reeft smiled and answered for him. “Garen is taking all of his licensing finals at once this week. He decided to study them all en masse.” Reeft’s smile widened, a particular curl at the corners of his mouth. “He vibrates.”

Obi-Wan hid a grin behind his hand. When Garen and Reeft had finally gone forward with a public relationship last spring, Reeft had become a bit less shy—about everything.

Garen’s bouncy antics made him realize that Abella had tucked herself in very close against Obi-Wan’s side. “Is there something that you need?”

The Chitanook girl eyed him, a gleam of curiosity in her eyes. Then she dropped her nose against his shoulder and sniffed, taking in a long, deep breath.

Abella shook out her fur and settled back in her seat with a self-satisfied smirk on her face. “When?”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. “Last night, you utter wench.”

“Aw, gods!” Abella exclaimed, and gave him a dirty look. “I was off by one day. One! I was so close!”

Aalto was trying, unsuccessfully, to hide his grin behind a tea mug. “It’s about time. I thought we were going to have to lock the two of you in a bedroom just to get that process moved along.”

Reeft offered him a wide smile, congratulations without insistent teasing. Garen, meanwhile, hugged Obi-Wan around the shoulders. “This is excellent news. It calls for more caff.”

“Garen, you’re going to explode as it is.” Obi-Wan laughed and ducked out from under Garen’s arm. Reeft was right; Garen _was_ vibrating.

“Yeah, well, I need something to help me forget that I lost that damned bet, too. I had it pegged for two weeks from now,” Garen said, slugging down the last of his caff.

“Don’t feel bad,” Obi-Wan said, offering a sympathetic smile. “I lost, too.”

After a brief moment of astounded silence, Abella punched him in the arm. “You sneaky bastard! You bet on yourself?” she asked, laughing.

Obi-Wan shrugged, keeping an inscrutable look on his face. “No harm in it, is there? After Anakin let it slip that there was a betting pool on us in the first place, I thought it was funny.” Garen chuckled, slapped Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and then slipped off to refill his mug with fresh caff.

“Then who did win?” Aalto asked, glancing around the commissary to see if anyone was staring in their direction. “I’m not even sure who started the pool in the first place.”

Abella grinned wide enough to show off her newly grown sharp teeth, the final mark of Chitanook adulthood. “Ask Master Windu. He knows.” Then she leaned up against Obi-Wan. “What was it like?” she asked with a shameless smile.

Obi-Wan glared down at her. “The entire bloody Temple knows that I’m having sex, and who with. That’s all the information anyone is _ever_ going to get.”

“Geeze, that’s too bad.” Garen sounded sad. “I could have used some new material.”

Obi-Wan looked askance at him, and then made a show of scooting as far away from Garen as he could get while the others laughed.

“Anyway.” Reeft gave Garen a speculative look. “I can fix _that._ ”

Obi-Wan’s commlink uttered an irritating chirp for attention, and his first, primal response was to curse the device’s entire existence. It was rare that so many of the people he had grown up with were in-Temple at the same time, and even rarer was the chance for them to sit down in one place like this.

He put the irritation aside. “Kenobi,” he answered, knowing that it wasn’t Anakin or Qui-Gon. They had much more efficient means of reaching him.

“Obi-Wan, it’s Depa.” The Master’s voice filtered through the comm speaker, catching everyone’s attention. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a problem.”

Obi-Wan frowned and lowered the volume until her voice wouldn’t travel beyond the ears of Obi-Wan and his friends. “What’s wrong?”

“Master Jil-Hyra has gone missing,” Depa replied, and that was when he heard the concern in her voice. “She was supposed to meet with the Healers early this morning, but never showed. I’ve looked for her in the Force as well as scanning the Temple proper, but I’m not having any luck finding her. I thought you might be able to assist me, especially given what happened yesterday.”

“What happened yesterday?” Aalto hissed the question, but Obi-Wan waved him to silence.

“I could make the attempt,” Obi-Wan said, mentally shuffling through a list of potential starting places. “Where are her quarters?” As Depa rattled off their Temple listing, Obi-Wan glanced around at his companions. All were accomplished Padawans on the verge of their Trials—three Knights and one Healer in-waiting. They would be good backup, but he wasn’t going to ask. This felt like the sort of mission that one volunteered for.

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” Obi-Wan said, and flipped off the comm. He pressed his lips together, listening to the background hum of the Force. Something was off, but it hadn’t been enough to catch his senses until he’d gone specifically looking for it. Not reassuring.

 _If something happens today because I didn’t take the time to deal with it months ago, the fault is mine._ Obi-Wan stood, his fingers brushing his lightsaber in quiet reminder.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Abella asked, gripping his arm before he could escape.

“Especially without us?” Aalto asked, rising from his seat. Garen and Reeft were just behind him.

Obi-Wan looked at each of them in turn, torn between pride and worry. They were as stubborn as he was, and there would be no dissuading them from following at his back. “I have absolutely no idea what is about to happen. If I or Master Billaba tells you to run, then that had better damned well be what you do.”

“What if we can help?” Aalto asked.

“You don’t understand.” Obi-Wan allowed years of leading military men onto hellish battlefields to fill his eyes and voice. “There is a lot more at stake here than you are yet aware of. Running isn’t an optional response. It’s mandatory.”

Reeft, Garen, and Aalto seemed a bit taken aback by his words, but Abella smiled at him, a hint of the Chitanook predator revealing itself. “We understand, Obi. We’re Jedi, same as you.”

“Even if we’re just retrieval, it’s still a hell of a lot more interesting than what my day called for.” Aalto grinned and shrugged. “Damned laundry.”

They met Master Depa in the hall outside Jil-Hyra’s quarters. The Councilor raised a single, sculpted eyebrow at the group. “Master Obi-Wan, you seem to have multiplied in the last twenty-six hours.”

“Master Depa,” Obi-Wan replied in kind. “I collected a group of volunteers, but they promise to behave themselves and respond accordingly, should anything drastic happen.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Depa said in a soft voice. She overrode the lock on Jil-Hyra’s door and allowed it to slide aside.

The moment he crossed the threshold, Darkness was like a slap in Obi-Wan’s face. His hand hovered over his lightsaber until he realized that the rooms were empty.

“Holy gods,” Garen muttered, glancing around. “This place is fucking rank—er, sorry, Master Billaba. But it is.”

“That’s all right, Padawan Muln,” Depa replied, her eyes dark with concern. “I find I am quite fond of your apt description.”

Abella rubbed at her arms, where her fur was trying to stand on end. “How could we not feel this until the door opened? The entire Temple should be able to sense this!”

“It feels like it wants to stick.” Aalto looked around the room, scowling. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going to shower after this until I scrub off a few layers of skin.”

Obi-Wan nodded absently. The further he stepped into the room, the more the altered currents of the Force tried to cling to him, whispering of dark things. He couldn’t make out individual words, but the ideas stood out well enough: _disaster, destruction, death, death, death—_

He shook off the annoyance and looked closer, tracing the lines of Jil-Hyra’s quarters. There was a barrier surrounding the rooms, one he suspected was a variant of the shielding he’d demonstrated before the Council yesterday.

Obi-Wan had sensed no lingering Darkness on Jil-Hyra’s person when she had been nearby. She had to have been hiding it, or, perhaps… He shuddered at the thought. Perhaps someone else had hidden it for her.

“Abella, can you scent her?”

Abella nodded, but didn’t look happy about it. “You humans reek if you’re nervous. Master Billaba, Master Jil-Hyra definitely has something on her mind. She was in these rooms this morning, but departed maybe two or three hours ago, if it was even that long.”

Obi-Wan finally managed to dig past all of the twisted and warped currents to find the pale yellow-and-gold strands of Jil-Hyra’s Force signature, all but lost in a stranglehold of filth. “She’s been coerced,” he whispered, as the truth of Jil-Hyra’s actions finally became clear. _And I didn’t see it._ He cursed himself before turning around to face the others.

“We have to find her. Now.”

Depa inclined her head in a grim nod. “You and Padawan Healer Abella will lead us.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Qui-Gon left his friends’ quarters about an hour after Obi-Wan. He and Micah hadn’t accomplished much, but after the past few months, it had been a relief to do something as simple as plan for someone’s future. If Micah wanted guinea pigs to test new shielding and his ability to incorporate it defensively and offensively…well, it wouldn’t be the first time they had played such games.

He checked on the pairbond and found Obi-Wan busy, all of his attention focused elsewhere. Frowning, Qui-Gon checked on Anakin next. _Anakin?_ he sent, nudging the training bond at the same time.

 _Yes, Master Qui-Gon?_ Anakin replied, sounding distracted. _Did you need something?_

_Have you seen your Master?_

Anakin’s response was accompanied by a flare of dismay, a response to something else in his vicinity. _No, not since I left him in the commissary. Something wrong?_

 _Probably not. What are you up to?_ Qui-Gon asked, as the dismay morphed into disgusted delight. _I am guessing it involves herding small children._

 _I’m helping the Falcons with some of the younger kids,_ Anakin replied, the training bond filling with undisguised happiness. _I missed hanging out with them, even if we_ are _all ducking flying paint._

Qui-Gon chuckled and stepped into the nearest empty turbolift. _Want some company? It sounds like a wonderful way to spend the afternoon._ It was a definite improvement over watching the political feeds and wanting to throttle a bunch of recalcitrant Senators.

_Are you sure you shouldn’t just hunt down Master Obi-Wan and…y’know. Get some time to yourselves?_

Qui-Gon almost missed the crèche designation on the lift’s control pad. _You heard that?_

 _No._   Anakin was amused by his discomfort. _Talked to Obi-Wan about it today at lunch, but I knew even before he mentioned it. He looked a lot happier than he usually does._

I’m being heartily embarrassed by a nine-year-old, Qui-Gon thought, smiling. _Who won the bet?_

Anakin’s reply was steeped in smugness. _I did._

Qui-Gon laughed as he exited the lift, straight into a raucous downpour of high-pitched, happy voices. The younglings were enthralled with the presence of the Padawan and the near-Padawans of the Falcon clan…and true to form, there was paint _everywhere._ Qui-Gon resigned himself to many colorful handprints on his tunics, trousers, boots, and hair.

His entrance was noticed by a tiny Rodian boy. “Master Qui-Gon is here!” he squeaked, and that was the signal. The entire group turned in Qui-Gon’s direction like they were of a hive-mind, and then tromped their way forward to attack as one many-handed entity.

 _Utterly doomed,_ Qui-Gon thought, smiling down at forty brilliant-eyed, paint-smudged faces.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Obi-Wan and Depa Billaba making the trip on their own would have attracted attention within minutes. They were both too intent upon their quarry. Having Garen, Aalto, Reeft, and Abella, however, offset the hunt, and thus they were all but ignored by passing Jedi. The only Master to pay them any real attention was Tsui Choi, who gave Obi-Wan a curious, searching glance.

 _Ask later,_ Obi-Wan sent to the Aleena Master. _Join me in hoping that it’s nothing._

Choi nodded in understanding and continued serenely on his way, even redirecting a curious Padawan while Obi-Wan’s group crowded into an older, smaller lift that dropped them down to the lowest public area of the Temple. The room was a smaller reflection of the Grand Stair far above.

“Which way?” Depa asked, turning her head back and forth in the deserted chamber. “I confess I haven’t been down here in many years.”

“Still down,” Abella said. “Obi-Wan?”

“Here,” Obi-Wan said, choosing the left-most stairwell after consulting the tangled, corrupted threads. It had been many years since he’d explored these old, forgotten paths, a young Padawan trotting at Qui-Gon’s heels as his Master showed him the oldest, earliest parts of the Coruscant Temple.

The circular stairwell was as long and dark as he remembered it to be. The dust was as thick as the air, and disuse marked everything in sight. “Get off of my heels, man,” Garen said to Aalto at one point. “Nothing’s going to eat us in the dark.”

“Sorry,” Aalto muttered. “I don’t like small, dark spaces.”

The stairs let them out into a small room, where they all pulled out their lightsabers to double as light sources. There were glow panels in the walls and ceiling, flickering with half-hearted attempts at life.

Abella sneezed, a harsh, unexpected sound that made Aalto and Reeft jump. “Sorry,” she whispered, rubbing her nose as her eyes watered. “It’s the dust. There’s just too much of it. You’re going to have to finish the hunt, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan nodded, turning his attention to the room’s potential exits. “Three doors,” he murmured, eying each one in turn.

“Left,” suggested Abella, before she sneezed again.

Beyond the door lay complete darkness, the light turning from dull yellow to cool blends of blue and green. They lifted their blades high, and the small group looked around in awe.

“Holy ghosts on a crispy stick,” Garen breathed, taking in the graceful arches of the vast ceiling overhead. “I didn’t know anything like this was down here.” The ancient walls were far more decorative than the higher levels, and included more panels for light, but the power cells were drained dry and did no more than give the occasional, useless flicker.

Obi-Wan toed a line through the dust on the stone floor. This area had been out of the Temple cleaning rotation for a long time. He thought it might be a good idea to make sure that was corrected.

Abella reached out to trace the artful, sweeping lines that graced the walls at shoulder level. “This is incredible. We must be in an original part of the Temple.” Her eyes flashed in the glow of their lightsabers. “How old is this?”

“About a thousand years, perhaps older,” Depa answered. “We’re not far from Coruscant’s surface. There is no natural light down here—see, there were once windows.” She gestured towards the right, where a long bank of clear glass lined the upper wall. The only view beyond them was solid darkness. Many of the windows were broken, allowing in air that had a musty, fuzzy quality that made breathing difficult.

Obi-Wan was only half-listening to the conversation, trying to sort out Jil-Hyra’s path. Abella had lost the scent trail to dust and sneezing fits at the end of the stairwell, and Jil-Hyra had been much more careful about her Force signature after leaving the Temple proper. He stepped forward when disturbed shapes on the floor caught his eye.

Jil-Hyra had not been so careful about the footprints she left behind.

“This way.”

They found Jil-Hyra standing alone in a small, empty room, pacing back and forth through the dust. She was muttering under her breath, an unceasing litany, but Obi-Wan couldn’t make it out. There was something hidden in her hands; the lightsabers cast enough light for him to see a glint of metal.

Jil-Hyra looked up at their approach, snarling. “Stay away from me!”

Obi-Wan dropped back, letting Depa take the lead. He and Jil-Hyra had shared enough antagonism over the past months, and now was not the time to make it worse.

Depa gazed serenely upon the other Master, letting her voice reflect concern and nothing else. “We missed you this morning, Lofla.”

“I know,” Jil-Hyra replied in an almost normal tone. Then she glared at the rest of the Padawans standing with Obi-Wan. “I see you brought the Play-Knight, and friends of his, too.”

Depa inclined her head. “Yes, I did. I asked Obi-Wan to help me look for you, and these Padawans also wished to help us.”

Jil-Hyra looked down, turning the piece of metal in her hands around and around. Obi-Wan kept trying to make out what it was, but she was doing a good job of keeping the bulk of it hidden. Whatever it turned out to be, he knew it was dangerous.

“I’m sure they do,” Jil-Hyra snorted. “Give her to the Mind Healers! They’ll fix her! Obviously, there is something wrong with her!” She looked pained even as she spoke the snide words, as if she desperately wanted to agree with her own assessment.

“Lofla, I am your friend.” Depa stepped forward, holding out one hand in a non-threatening gesture. “I was concerned for you. Why come all the way down here?”

“I had something I was supposed to do,” Jil-Hyra said, and then laughed in a way that made Obi-Wan’s skin crawl. “One last thing, and then there won’t be anything wrong with me anymore.”

She cradled the object in her hands, allowing the light to shine upon it. Obi-Wan’s gut clenched as he realized exactly what it was.

A detonator.

“Depa,” Obi-Wan whispered in warning, feeling a lump of ice in his chest. He was suddenly all too aware of what Jil-Hyra was about to do. _Anakin!_

“Lofla, what is it you have done?” Depa asked, her eyes widening as she, too, realized what the other woman held.

_Master?_

“He gave it to me,” Jil-Hyra said. Tears were running down her cheeks, and her eyes were full of grief. “He gave it to me.” Without moving her hands, she activated the device before any of them could move to stop her.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Anakin stood bolt upright, eyes wide, ignoring everything around him. _Master!_

Qui-Gon was still several meters away, surrounded by children, but he could sense Anakin’s sudden alarm. _What is it?_

Anakin blinked and then turned his attention to Qui-Gon. _Master Qui-Gon, we have to get everyone out of the crèche!_

Qui-Gon met Anakin’s frightened eyes. _Anakin, what—_

Then he felt it, too—a rush of premonition warning him of the terrible thing about to happen.

Beneath their feet was a series of muted explosions. Qui-Gon felt the vibration of them through his boots before the floor dropped out from beneath him. His teeth clamped together with a vicious clack when the fall came to an abrupt halt, several centimeters lower than it had been.

Qui-Gon hit the emergency transponder on his commlink. Sending a signal through the Temple network and activating an alarm that would draw every warm body and able droid towards the crèche. He could already feel curious/concerned/horrified impressions from other Jedi.

“Come on!” Qui-Gon projected his voice, gaining the attention of their crowd of bewildered younglings. “We’re going out into the gardens. Everyone grab a partner and head for the door! Anakin is going to lead you. Hurry!”

Anakin nodded his understanding, grabbing the hands of the nearest Initiates. Saini picked up the youngest child, who wrapped his small arms around Saini’s neck and plastered her hair with blue. They led their charges through the door and out into the hallway, avoiding the lifts.

Terrilanar roared as she charged into the room. She caught Qui-Gon’s arm when he stumbled and would have fallen when the floor cracked beneath them.

[Come on!] she howled. Together, they ran further into the crèche, towards individual clan rooms and classrooms.

They were met by a thick cloud of dust and smoke. Qui-Gon could hear many high-pitched cries for help, but couldn’t see a damned thing. Chips of the ceiling rained down in an unending stream of stone, mortar, paint, and glass.

“How many?” Qui-Gon yelled over the din.

[Too many!] Terrilanar replied, her voice thick with grief. [Most of the clans stayed in the crèche today!]

Over one hundred children, Qui-Gon thought. Force, let us actually find them all.

 _Help us!_ the old Wookiee screamed at the Jedi they could feel gathering near. _We need everyone with us! NOW!_

Help would be of utmost importance, but from what Qui-Gon could sense, they didn’t have time to wait for organized evacuation. “Go that way!” Qui-Gon shouted, pointing into one of the rooms where flame was already dancing. “Find who you can! I’ll go this way!” Terrilanar rumbled agreement, her giant frame disappearing into the smoke.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“No!” Abella shouted, and then fell to her knees when the floor moved sickeningly beneath their feet.

Obi-Wan dropped his lightsaber, forgotten and unneeded. He could feel the damage to the Temple, sense that the great support posts the crèche had been built upon were giving way. All were damaged beyond repair. He raised his arms and reached out, holding the great pillars in place with the Force.

The columns protested, trying to escape what confined them. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and _held_ , determined to keep the crèche stable for as long as was needed.

“Go!” he yelled, in response to a question that he’d not quite been able to make out. “I’ll hold it long enough for you to get everyone out!”

He heard a cry, a scream of rage, before the noise abruptly ceased. Then Depa’s hand was gripping his shoulder. “Obi-Wan!”

“I said go!” he yelled back. He couldn’t see her, his friends, or anything else before him. There were only the foundations of the crèche, each great pillar trying to crumble in his grasp. “Go help them!”

Depa’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “We will return. I promise.”

Obi-Wan heard the others leave. He had a moment’s puzzlement when he heard only five retreating steps of feet, not six, but discarded the information as irrelevant to the situation. He took a breath and settled onto his knees as the great structure above captured all his attention. He filled gaps, shored up ruined columns with material that others had already shed. He picked up on a sense of acrid danger and found a single remaining explosive charge, cycling through its detonation cycle instead of expending itself with the others. Obi-Wan frowned, sparing a moment of concentration to disarm it.

 _Please let no one die today,_ Obi-Wan thought with a sharp pang. If only he could have disarmed the others, if only she hadn’t—

Then there was no time for recrimination, as maintaining a steady foundation took all of his concentration and strength.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Despite the best efforts of several emergency crews, the crèche was still pulling itself apart. Qui-Gon dropped through a jagged crack in the floor. A pair of girls clung to each other in the darkened cavity, and they smiled up at him, trusting him to save their lives. Qui-Gon smiled back, lifting them free with the Force before catching them in his arms.

“Adventures are terrible,” the little Bothan girl said in a soft voice.

“No, adventures are fine,” her human companion returned, though she was just as wide-eyed. “Adventures are for away from home. This isn’t an adventure, this is…this is diss-ass-trus.”

“Indeed,” Qui-Gon murmured. “Hold your breaths now, just like you’ve been taught. Ready?” When they both nodded, he bolted for the green light that some helpful soul had placed in the crèche’s entryway.

He sensed Mace’s presence, joining him as he ran. When Mace came into view, he was bearing a small Zabrak boy in his arms.

 _How many more?_ Qui-Gon asked, leaping to one side when a large piece of the ceiling above them gave way. The floor hadn’t yet collapsed, but even over the great roar of noise, he could hear it, groaning and splintering as it prepared to give in to the inevitable.

 _Three!_ Mace responded, looking grim. _All in the direction I came from._

Someone had finally managed to get a working filtration barrier set up; the moment they entered the hallway, the air was clear. Qui-Gon handed the girls directly into the arms of a tall Ithorian Healer.

 _I’ll go after the last three,_ Qui-Gon told Mace. He caught sight of Anakin amidst the chaos, helping Saini to move uninjured children down to the gardens. The hall was filled with frightened crying, injured wails, the shouts or scattered curses from the engaged Healers, and the dire grumblings from soot-stained Jedi who had come to help them evacuate the crèche. He could sense Master Yoda’s presence in the garden, attempting to keep the unharmed Initiates occupied.

 _I’ll go with you,_ Mace offered, but Qui-Gon shook his head.

 _You need to stay with Tuuvino,_ he replied. _Your new Padawan needs you._

Mace opened his mouth, as if to protest, and then gave Qui-Gon a rueful smile. _Hell of a way to claim a Padawan._ “Go,” he said aloud. “I’ll send someone else to shadow you as soon as I find an able body.”

Qui-Gon nodded and ducked back into the crèche proper. His first breath nearly choked him; the air quality had deteriorated significantly in the last two minutes. He ripped a long piece of raw silk from his tunics, wrapping it several times around his nose and mouth to filter out the debris in the air. That done, he hurried back in the direction that Mace had indicated.

He knew at once when his shadow joined him. By the time he found a massive column on the ground, blocking the way forward, his shadow caught up. Qui-Gon leapt to the top of the fallen stone and then gave Quinlan Vos a hand up.

“Lovely day, isn’t it Master Jinn?” Quinlan asked. His teeth were bared in a fierce, angry grimace.

“Indeed.” Qui-Gon tore another strip of silk free. “Mask up. The air is turning foul.”

Quinlan did so without arguing. “We’re the last team out,” he said, his voice muffled. “Master Yaddle checked for stragglers, and is certain that the three we’re after are the last.”

“Let’s go, then.” They jumped down onto the floor, only for a wall of fire to rise up from a broken segment of flooring. Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes and rushed through it, Quinlan at his heels. He caught a whiff of burnt hair after they passed through the flame. They checked each other’s backs as they proceeded, singed but not on fire.

“Broken fuel line?” Quinlan asked, coughing.

“Probably!” Qui-Gon barked out, his throat starting to swell up despite the protective cloth over his face. “What happened to the damned fire repression system?”

“The sensors were damaged!” Quinlan shouted back. “Can’t even get the system to override and run it manually!”

They dropped down in front of a low table, one that had bowed but not broken under a mound of debris. The three remaining Initiates hiding underneath were covered in so much dust that they were blending in with the smoke, and the youngest was unconscious.

Quinlan opened his arms. “C’mon, younglings! Time to go!”

The two frightened children climbed into the Knight’s waiting arms, but refused to let Quinlan leave until they had witnessed Qui-Gon gently lift the third from their impromptu shelter. He cradled the unconscious Twi’lek boy, recognizing him as a member of Obi-Wan and Micah’s A.L.T. class.

“All right, then!” Quinlan said with forceful cheer. “Let’s go!”

They made it back to the pillar without mishap, despite the danger. Even the wall of fire was reduced to centimeters-high licks of flame as the remaining fuel in the line burnt itself out. Quinlan put his two children on top of the pillar so that they could scramble over it, then he jumped onto the top. Qui-Gon lifted up Sia’me, letting Quinlan hold him long enough so that Qui-Gon could scale the pillar.

On the other side, they gathered the children back up. “Ready for a fun run?” Quinlan asked his charges.

“Fast fast fast fast,” one of his girls replied, eyes widening. “Fast-fast!”

They ran with enhanced speed towards the green light, which had grown faint as smoke and dust took over the air. “Let them in!” one of the Healers yelled, seeing them approach. “Everyone back the hell up and make some room!”

They broke into the hall and skidded to a halt. “That’s everyone?” Terza asked, approaching to take Sia’me from Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon glanced at Quinlan, who nodded. “It is.”

At his words, there was a slow, creaking groan from behind them. He, Terza, and Quinlan turned to stare as the tortured crèche ceiling caved in with a terrible roar. The stressed floor, burdened anew, finally gave way, crashing down several floors until it was a pile of wreckage jutting out of what had been the crèche maintenance tunnels.

Jedi bearing chemical extinguisher packs stepped up; Qui-Gon, Quinlan, and Terza moved aside so that the new teams could put out what fires could be reached.

“Another team is trying to access the area from the floors above,” Quinlan said. “We’re damned lucky that the crèche was built to be a self-contained system. If it hadn’t been, half of the Temple would be falling down around our ears.”

Qui-Gon glanced at him. “If that had been the goal from the start, I don’t think we would have noticed until it was too late.”

Quinlan shuddered. “Don’t say shit like that. I’m going to have nightmares as it is.”

“So am I,” Qui-Gon said, stripping the makeshift silk mask from his face. He bent over and spent a solid minute trying to cough out the filth that he’d been breathing in for the past twenty minutes.

“Someone grab him, too!” Terza yelled. Before Qui-Gon could protest, another Healer had him by the arm and was shoving an oxygen mask over his face.

“Breathe, Master,” the Healer said—a Padawan by her braid, and a damned pushy one at that. “You get to wear that for at least the next five minutes while I make sure you didn’t break parts of yourself during the rescue.”

Qui-Gon was about to turn to Quinlan for help when he saw that Vos was being accosted by his own Healer. She must have been known to him, considering the way he was trying to back up through the wall to escape.

The Padawan Healer snorted in amusement at the look on his face. “The faster you submit, the faster it’s done.   You’re Jinn, right?” When he nodded, she smiled without humor. “Check on that co-Padawan of yours, and his Master. It’ll give you something to do while I work.”

That was a good idea. While she inspected him for burns, Qui-Gon nudged the bond he had with Anakin. _Ani?_

 _Here, Master Qui-Gon,_ Anakin announced, sounding tired. _I’m okay. Saini’s okay. Falcon all got out—so far the gossip chain says_ everyone _got out._

Qui-Gon managed to smile while the Healer eyeballed him about the burn on his arm. If the casualty count remained at zero, it would be a blessing. _Stay as long as you’re needed, but don’t stay so long that you become a hindrance rather than a help._

 _Gotcha,_ Anakin replied, and turned his attention back to what he was doing.

 _Obi-Wan?_ Qui-Gon tried, and was concerned when there was no response. He went deeper along the pairbond, and encountered nothing more alarming than a sense of deep unconsciousness. _Oh, love. If you went and gave yourself another case of psychic overextension, Terza is going to flay you first, and then me right afterwards._

The Healer pronounced him fit—“Unless you start coughing up blood. That’s not fit at all.”—and sent him on his way. Qui-Gon attached a new filter pack to the portable oxygen mask and took it with him, fighting his way through the influx of Jedi and Healers until he could escape into the outer hallway.

Qui-Gon stood there for a moment, breathing clean air without feeling hints of claustrophobia. Garen raced by and paused when he saw him. “Lower levels, to the left,” he said, and then hurried off on whatever errand he was running.

He took the old lift and made his way down the circular stairwell. He was halfway down when the light flickered and faded back to almost nothing. The third door in the junction was still open, and with his lightsaber ignited, he could follow the steps everyone had left behind.

Qui-Gon found Obi-Wan in a small room further along. This one was lit by a portable lantern, enabling him to put his lightsaber away. The moment he extinguished the glow, a warm light from the ceiling made him look up. The stone had cracked and partially separated, revealing that some of the ruin of the crèche had fallen this far before solid ancient construction had stopped it. The sullen fire was slowly filling the room with smoke, which wasn’t doing his unconscious partner any good at all.

Qui-Gon went to fetch the lantern and realized that there was another body on the ground. Jil-Hyra. He stared at her corpse and then turned away.

Obi-Wan had been resting on his knees, but whenever the crèche had collapsed, so had he, falling awkwardly onto his side. Qui-Gon picked him up and carried him from the room, bringing Obi-Wan out into the much larger hall. He sat Obi-Wan in a corner junction before strapping the portable oxygen mask onto his face. Then, with an obstinate set to his jaw, Qui-Gon retrieved Jil-Hyra’s body, laying her out on the dusty floor.

Qui-Gon went back to his partner, who was already beginning to rouse from the influx of fresh oxygen. “Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes fluttered open. “Qui?” he murmured, and then crossed his eyes to look at the mask parked on his face. “What?”

Qui-Gon smiled and took his hand. “Head feels all right?”

“No, head _hurts,_ ” Obi-Wan countered, and then clumsily prodded at the oxygen mask. “What’s this for?”

“You were lying on a floor that is coated in dust, and the cracked ceiling above you was letting in a significant amount of smoke,” Qui-Gon told him, and then tucked the oxygen mask back into place. “Leave it for another minute.”

Obi-Wan nodded, turning his attention to Qui-Gon’s appearance instead. “You look singed.”

“I think I am, but I cleared the Healers’ scrutiny,” Qui-Gon replied, smiling. “No casualties, love.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and sighed. “Oh, thank the Force, the gods, the stars, and anything else that might be listening.”

Qui-Gon glanced at the dead Jedi to their left. A lightsaber burn crossed Jil-Hyra’s body from shoulder to waist, a lethal stroke. “Jil-Hyra?”

“Had a detonator,” Obi-Wan said, opening his eyes and following Qui-Gon’s gaze. “I think—I think Depa must have done that. I was so concerned with the foundation…”

Qui-Gon pulled his partner into a hug. “I suspected that was you. Thank you, love. You gave us all enough time to get everyone out.”

Obi-Wan pulled back, frowning. “I should have done something about Jil-Hyra long before it came to this. I knew _something_ was wrong, and then…” He shut his eyes. “This is my fault.”

“No, it isn’t,” Qui-Gon refuted, shaking his head. “Jil-Hyra made her own decision.” He glared at the old Master’s body, not yet sure what the Council would decide to do with her.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and stared at Qui-Gon, looking haunted. “No. No, it wasn’t, and I don’t know how long it’s been since it actually was her choice to make. She was coerced, Qui, and I missed it.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I even know why I missed it. Doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Qui-Gon felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cooler temperature of the lower levels. “Let’s get upstairs,” he said. “Crews are going to have to be sent down here to deal with the rest of the damage.”

Obi-Wan got to his feet, and after several shaky steps, proved he could walk—though he ripped off the oxygen mask the moment Qui-Gon turned his back. Qui-Gon bent down and scooped up Jil-Hyra’s body with a bit less resentment than before.

The trip up the spiral staircase seemed to take forever. Obi-Wan managed each step with what looked to be returning strength, but he hugged the stairwell wall the entire way up. Jil-Hyra was a heavy burden in Qui-Gon’s arms, one that weighed just as much on his mind.

Jil-Hyra was a stubborn individual, from what Qui-Gon remembered of working with her in the past. She had been strong in the Force, secure in her place in the universe. If she could be coerced…

 _No,_ Obi-Wan interrupted his thoughts without turning around. _We would not all be such easy marks. Jil-Hyra must have left herself with a vulnerability, one that she did not address out of ignorance or fear. Darkness preys on that—preys on weakness, not strength._ Obi-Wan lifted his hand, scrubbing his face as they came out on the landing before the old turbolift. They rode in silence, their eyes on each other as the lift climbed.

Exiting back out into the Temple was a vast relief. Obi-Wan collapsed at the bottom of the stairs with a grateful sigh, while Qui-Gon once again laid out Jil-Hyra’s body, this time on the faded runner that went from the stairs to the old, barricaded door that had once been the Temple’s public entrance. The next time she was moved, it would damned well be someone else making it happen.

Obi-Wan smiled when Qui-Gon sat down on the bottom step beside him, but it was a weary expression. “Qui, your partner is not a perfect man. I allowed myself to become complacent in spite of everything I knew. That was my weakness, and it has been taken advantage of. I’m angry at myself because today, that complacency cost us dearly.”

“What are you talking about?” Qui-Gon asked.

“I promised you yesterday that I would explain what was going on in the ship.” Obi-Wan took Qui-Gon’s left hand, enfolding it in both of his own. “I was going to last night, but, then I got a bit…distracted.” He smile was warm, forgiving them both for being so distracted.

“When I shielded myself from you and Anakin, it wasn’t just to see if I could still hide in the Force, as you witnessed in the Council chamber. It was also an attempt to see if certain suspicions of mine were correct.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “And what suspicions would those be?”

Obi-Wan laced their fingers together. “I wanted to know why I would have certain ideas, or why I would only recall some memories at certain times. Then there were the things that I wished to research, people and places. It ever only occurred to me to do so when we were out on missions. Whenever we returned to Coruscant, I would just….forget. I would forget it all entirely, and if I made notes for myself?” Obi-Wan’s expression darkened. “The notes no longer seemed important. Then we would leave, and the same cycle would begin all over again.”

Obi-Wan’s grip on Qui-Gon’s hand tightened. “When we met one of the Senators a few months ago, I felt like I’d been slapped in the face. I wanted to know _why._ ”

He took a deep breath. _I asked the Force to help me to see…if there was anything_ to _see…and there is. I can show you, as well, but it will be difficult._

Qui-Gon gave it a moment’s thought. Obi-Wan was usually honest about perceived difficulties. _Show me._

Obi-Wan gave him a quick, relieved smile, before reaching out to clasp Qui-Gon’s other hand as well. “I’m sorry. This will hurt a bit.”

“Understood,” Qui-Gon replied, and lowered part of his shielding.

Obi-Wan’s touches to his mind were soft, gentle prods to different places, seemingly at random. None of it was intrusive, nor did Obi-Wan try to gain entry into Qui-Gon’s thoughts. No, it seemed more as if he were looking for something.

Qui-Gon hissed out a pained breath when Obi-Wan gripped something in his mind, something he had no idea even existed. There was even more pain when it was peeled away.

The strange energy was dark and muddy in his mind’s eye. Obi-Wan made a face before burning it away.

“What am I looking for—gods,” Qui-Gon gasped.

There was red haze everywhere he looked.

The red fell across the stairs and coated the polished stone floors. It filtered in with the light from the windows. If Qui-Gon shifted his senses outwards, the intrusive, disturbing color was everywhere, covering all. Nothing was untouched, not even the sky.

“Sith, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon whispered. “What the hell is it?”

“It’s a veil,” Obi-Wan said in a soft voice. “It’s a subtle, well-created piece of Dark art, and it’s in place over the entirety of Coruscant.”

Qui-Gon felt his skin prickle at the realization that the veil had just been covering him, too. “What does it do?”

“As near as I can tell, it makes people…forget, or at least to be redirected,” Obi-Wan explained, frowning as he tried to clarify. “It alters the way the Force speaks to us.”

Qui-Gon shuddered at the thought. He was so entwined with the Living Force that sometimes he had trouble discerning where it ended and he began. This veil was more horrific than any shielding. “Why?”

“Why is it here?” Obi-Wan’s smile was sharp and humorless. “I remember Master Yoda saying, ‘Hard to see, the Dark side is.’ I always wondered about that—Darkness seemed pretty damned obvious every time I ran into it.” The smile twisted sideways. “I always wondered why the future was so clouded, when I or Yoda or any of the other Masters meditated on it. Back then, we surmised that maybe there was too much change happening at once to get even a hint of an actual outcome. Now…now I know differently.

“The Sith Lord is here, now, on Coruscant,” Obi-Wan said in a low voice, his eyes flat and gray. “He hides in plain sight. The entire Council has met him at one time or another, has bowed to him in greeting. You have also met him, among many others—and no one sensed anything out of place about that man at all. They wouldn’t sense anything even now, unless he dropped his shielding, and the Sith will not do so willingly.”

Qui-Gon gave a slow nod. The idea was shocking, but it was that time. The four-year point was _now._ What could be more detrimental to the Jedi Order than the return of the Sith?

“It would probably be safer to dispatch the Apprentice, first,” Qui-Gon said, musing on the black-garbed Zabrak from the desert. “I don’t think I ever want to have to deal with two at once.”

“Maul’s death would certainly get the Sith Lord’s attention,” Obi-Wan said, letting his head drop down to rest on Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “Do _not_ tell the others yet, especially Yoda. I think he would figure out who I am speaking of. Worse, I think he would attempt to do something about it.”

“That could work in our favor,” Qui-Gon began, but Obi-Wan cut him off.

“No, it wouldn’t. Yoda does not yet know exactly what we face, and he…” Obi-Wan paused, biting his lip. “He lost to the Sith once before. The battle did not cost him his life, but it destroyed much of his health. Even if Yoda were to be successful this time, the repercussions could still destroy us without some sort of intervention at play. The Sith’s public identity has an incredible power base, with many supporters. There are already whispers among those supporters that the Jedi are not so well-loved as we like to believe we are.”

Qui-Gon sighed. They were damned both ways, then, at least until another option presented itself.

They both looked up as others approached: Micah Giett, Mace Windu, Depa Billaba, and Quinlan Vos. Mace and Quinlan were as liberally soot-streaked as Qui-Gon must have been. Depa’s face became grieved as she realized they were keeping watch over the body of her friend.

Mace stared down at the dead woman before closing his eyes and turning away. “I don’t know what we should do with her. If she was coerced, then we owe her a pyre, but I’m really not in the mood to be so magnanimous.”

Micah shrugged and then leaned against his staff. “Stuff her in deep freeze for now, Mace. Gods know we’ve got enough to worry about in the meantime. We have one hundred seventy children with no place to sleep.”

“We should double up, then,” Qui-Gon suggested.

Depa nodded slow agreement. “I don’t think any of our children are going to wish to sleep alone. We have empty quarters available, and when those are full, we can spread the stragglers out among the rest of the Temple residents.”

Quinlan offered a tired grin. “My place will be empty and fair game. I have an, er, friend who I’ll be spending the night with. My Padawan will be shacking up in her spare bedroom.”

“Then my quarters are available, too,” Obi-Wan said. “Anakin and I will temporarily invade Qui-Gon’s quarters.”

 _Temporarily?_ Qui-Gon sent, amused.

 _Don’t push your luck,_ Obi-Wan replied, a brief spark of laughter in his eyes. “Saini and Anakin will most likely room together, unless she is Chosen before the day is over.”

Micah nodded. “That’s a possibility. Initiate Ella was being watched rather closely by Master Ch’tall’ah. She kept a good head on her shoulders, despite the chaos.”

Mace crossed his arms, pausing as if gathering his thoughts. “That is one less concern. Obi-Wan, tell me what you know about what was done, and what the damage is.”

“Jil-Hyra set charges on almost all of the support columns that the crèche was built upon. You’ll want to tell our work crews that some of the crèche went through the maintenance tunnels and wound up cracking the ceiling of the lowest level of the Temple.”

Depa realized what that meant, and her eyes widened. “And I left you alone down there. My friend, I’m so sorry.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “It was fine, Depa. Cracked and split, but nothing fell on me.” He turned his attention back to Mace. “I can’t say what kind of charges we’re looking at until we dig out whatever’s left, but I have a fairly good idea of where they came from. There are enough black markets in the lower levels that Jil-Hyra _could_ have purchased them herself, but I think she was given the charges by the same person who coerced her in the first place.” Obi-Wan’s expression faltered as he gazed at Jil-Hyra’s body. “I think she tried very hard to fight against it, but her defenses were broken down and she couldn’t gain any ground. When she fell to that Force suggestion so easily in the commissary—”

“Not even the Healers could find the coercion that you speak of,” Depa told him in a quiet voice. “They were thorough about their investigation of Jil-Hyra’s consciousness and intents, and still noticed nothing.”

“Obi-Wan.” Mace waited until Obi-Wan looked up. “Thanks to you, this is the only body we have today.”

“All right; you win.” Obi-Wan offered them all a half-hearted smile that still looked more like a grimace. “Not my fault.”

“There are going to be repercussions from this,” Qui-Gon said, after a brief moment of silence. “For us, and for everyone else.”

“Oh, great.” Quinlan sighed. “Now we’ve all got something to look forward to.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Qui-Gon didn’t get a chance to see the full extent of the damage until much later, when he finally had a spare moment to download the updated news feeds. He scrolled through them, frowning at what he saw but not too terribly surprised by it. Every thread concerned the Temple bombing. Even a major sky traffic collision, occurring as pilots reacted to the explosion, was a barely mentioned side note, despite the fact that the accident had claimed lives when the Temple bombing had claimed none.

“Not even a hint of it, is there?” Obi-Wan asked, coming up behind him. There were still smears of soot on his cheeks, marks from when Qui-Gon had placed the mask on his face with fire-blackened hands.

Qui-Gon shook his head. “No,” he replied, with a deep frisson of unease.

The blockade of Naboo had been forgotten.

 

*          *          *          *

 

The Great Library of Morous IV was a fantastic realm, fit to warm the heart of any serious archivist. Under normal circumstances, Tahl would have gone inside and spent months among the stacks and vaults. Her Padawan would have been along just to pull Tahl outside on a regular basis to rehydrate, eat, and be reminded that sunlight existed.

The library had an entire wing devoted to their collection of Jedi documents and artifacts. Their appreciation for Jedi lore rivaled some of the finest collections in the galaxy, though they all paled in comparison to the Jedi Library itself.

Morous IV had been on Tahl’s list, of course, but the library had contacted her first, after hearing of Tahl’s quest from other researchers she had encountered in the last few years. The head archivist had been certain of their ability to assist in Tahl’s research, and upon arrival, Tahl had discovered why. The Great Library professed to hold nothing less than the original written copy of the Prophecy of the Chosen One, created by Master Abhin Sal-Tur during the war.

Despite her excitement, Tahl had mentioned nothing to anyone aside from Bant, fearing another dead end. She sent her Padawan off into the stacks to search for more references to the Prophecy. If anyone else had made a study of the document, it would be on file, and Tahl didn’t mind having second, third, or even fourth opinions on which to gauge her decisions.

A librarian was waiting for her in front of the Jedi wing. Tahl tilted her head, curious, as she listened to certain telltale beeps and sounds. The Jedi wing had a full security system protecting its entrance.

“Welcome, Master Tahl,” the librarian said. Her voice was like gentle wind blowing over wooden reeds. “I am Kerin. The head archivist of our Jedi wing, Beryl, will be along in a short while, but I am to escort you in the meantime.”

Tahl smiled and returned Kerin’s bow. “You both take the names of precious stones.”

Kerin’s reply was soft and respectful. “Stones have great strength and longevity. There are certainly worse aspects to wish for oneself.”

Tahl followed Kerin through the security junction, allowing the guards to take her prints. Her finger was pricked with a blood analyzer to match her midichlorian count against Temple record, which amused her. Her lightsaber was borrowed, and from the sounds, run through a scanner that confirmed it was, indeed, the device in question. Then she was guided through another scanner, one that prickled her skin and made her feel an intense disquiet.

Her lightsaber was returned to her, though one of the guards told her in a low voice that it had better not get ignited in the library. Tahl inclined her head in response to the poor attempt at a threat and followed along after Kerin.

The quality of the air changed, marking a force-field barrier. The environmentally controlled area was at least fifteen degrees cooler than the rest of the library.

“Please wait here,” Kerin said, guiding Tahl to a worktable. “I will return in a moment with the Prophecy you wish to study.”

Tahl knocked her hand against the hard surface, feeling the answering vibration in the material and hearing the echo in the room. It was a very large surface, and smooth under her fingertips. She imagined it must be a transparisteel worktable with a light underneath, but lights did Tahl no good these days. Her fingers were better.

Tahl heard the loud hush of the vault door opening. After a moment, Kerin’s footsteps returned, her steps altered by the new weight she carried.

“This is it.” Kerin’s soft voice was bright with excitement. She placed another large item onto the table. “Do you wish to touch the document?”

Tahl nodded, and obligingly held out her hands. The chemical protectant burned, and wasn’t nearly as kind to her skin as the gel coating she used on her fingertips, but at least it dried quickly.

“Wait a moment,” Kerin said. “I must remove the top protective layer of glass.” Tahl listened to the quiet scrape as the cover was put down on another part of the table. “Now, then. I present to you The Prophecy of the Chosen One, Master Tahl.”

“Thank you, Kerin,” Tahl replied, and bent over to place her fingertips on the document. It was parchment beneath her hands—the artificial replacement originally formulated some forty-five hundred years ago, not the stretched skin of some deceased animal. She ran her fingertips across the width of the document, then again from top to bottom. It was only as long as her forearm, and as wide as her two hands pressed together.

Tahl frowned. The parchment was in surprisingly good shape for a document that was supposed to be four thousand years old. “Has anyone transcribed it? I can tell that the ink is not nearly as strong as it once was.”

“It has been transcribed,” Keri replied, “but Beryl believed that you would take joy in studying the real document. Your reputation in research and archival studies precedes you, Master Tahl, and the Library of Morous IV is glad to be able to grant you this opportunity.”

Tahl nodded, smiling her gratitude. _Four thousand years old,_ she thought with no little wonder. _I am touching a time traveler in my hands, one that comes all the way from the Great Sith War._ Exar Kun. Thon. Ulic Qel-Droma. Ood Bnar. Sylvar. Abhin Sal-Tur. Nomi Sunrider. Vodo-Siosk Baas. Odan-Urr. Moori Tan. Arca Jeth. Their tales were all the drama any Jedi child could ever ask for.

Tahl set aside her fanciful thoughts and bent over her work. She had trained her fingers to discover the things her eyes could no longer see, and with the skill had come the ability to feel an object’s age with startling accuracy. She could read text by indentation or raised texture, and if her fingers failed, the Force could sometimes still decipher ink long-faded into unintelligible blurs.

She traced the firmly written lines of the Prophecy, smiling as she saw the beautiful Gaelanori script unfolding in her mind’s eye. Then she frowned, puzzled. The triangle motif framing each word was as it should be, but the more she read, the more it seemed as if the writing had been crudely done, as if its author had been in a hurry.

No. Not in a hurry. Her frown deepened; she traced each motif-encased word once more. This was not sloppiness borne of speed, but lack of true skill. It didn’t match the other two known works of Master Sal-Tur, documents that Tahl had studied both before and after losing her sight. The other papers contained grace and purity of form, whereas this did not.   Tahl imagined that to a non-Gaelanori, the document was beautiful, but she knew better, and so would any other of the great scribes.

 _Sal-Tur_ _used the artificial parchment,_ Tahl thought, lifting a corner of the paper and rubbing it between thumb and forefinger.

The thickness was wrong.

Tahl let the document lie flat again. Without moving, she spoke to Kerin. “Has this ever been dated?”

“The date rests on the bottom left of the paper, beneath Master Sal-Tur’s signature.”

Tahl’s fingers found the area spoken of, but the ink was too far gone for her senses to translate. She tried to look with the Force, and even that method failed her. Strange.

“Has it been chemically dated since the document was received?” Tahl asked. It was a process that should have been standard procedure, but she was starting to get a bad, bad feeling that procedure, in this instance, had been forgotten.

“I—I am sorry, I do not actually know.” Kerin sounded nervous. “But this Prophecy has been in our possession for a thousand years, given to us by Master Sal-Tur personally. The transfer of ownership was visually recorded and logged into the archives, if you would like to…to…”

“Yes, I would like to see it,” Tahl said, to save the poor woman the potential embarrassment. “My Padawan’s eyes work just fine, Kerin.”

“Very well, then. I will…” Kerin was flustered. “I will fetch Beryl,” she said, and fled.

Tahl’s mouth was bone dry. Morous IV had built a shrine to the Jedi in its one thousand years of civilized existence after colonization. _They know our history; they own our artifacts._ Morous IV’s Great Library focused on Jedi history of the last millennium, tying their interest to the founding of the colony. _They know our history, but not all of it._

This time, Tahl heard two sets of footsteps approach. One was Kerin, so it was likely that the other was Beryl.

“Master Tahl,” a new voice greeted her, deeper than Kerin’s and potentially male, though the Morous population had two different types of females, so gender identification could be tricky. “I am Beryl. My assistant tells me that you have a problem with our document.”

“Kerin says that you received this from the hands of Master Sal-Tur himself,” Tahl said.

Beryl sniffed. “The young ones always get it wrong. It was not Master Sal-Tur, but one of his descendants. The prophecy had been kept pristine and protected for millennia, but he believed it was time for it to be shared with all.”

“That’s almost worse,” Tahl murmured, resting her hand on the table’s edge. “My apologies, fellow Archivists, but I fear we may all have been deceived.”

“What is this you speak of?” Beryl asked, sounding upset. “Our document is not a forgery!”

“No, no it isn’t,” Tahl agreed in a quiet voice, projecting a gentle wave of calm to keep the other librarians from insult or panic. “However, I believe it was written by the one who brought it to you…and he could not have been one of Abhin Sal-Tur’s descendants.”

“And you know this how?” That was Kerin, sounding as if she had drawn herself up tall in order to be intimidating.

“This is not often known outside of a very few, very specific circles,” Tahl began, keeping her voice soft so that the others would have to remain quiet in order to hear her. “When Master Sal-Tur was young, the Republic was undergoing a severe prejudice against non-binary-gendered beings. To protect himself, Master Sal-Tur identified as male, but he was not a male of the Gaelanori race. He was their third, the neutral-gendered. The thirds, at that time, made up the priesthood, the scholars, the mediators, the judges. The man who brought you this copy of the Prophecy could not have been of Sal-Tur’s lineage, because the neutral thirds do not have the ability to bear or sire children.”

“I don’t believe it,” Beryl whispered.

“I need for this to be dated,” Tahl repeated the request. “It is more important now than ever before. I also need for someone to fetch my Padawan, so that we may view the visual footage of the Prophecy’s delivery to your Library.”

“It—it can be arranged,” Beryl said. “I am not quite convinced, but…I am not fool enough to insist otherwise. If the situation is as dire as you say, I can make certain that results are available within twenty-two hours.”

“I can retrieve the archive footage of the Prophecy’s delivery,” Kerin said, and Tahl listened to the retreat of her footsteps. Beryl remained long enough to replace the protective glass covering over the Prophecy before walking in the opposite direction.

Tahl rested her hand on her lightsaber, tucked neatly away in her sash. _I have such a bad feeling about this._

Bant was by her side within twenty minutes, smelling of salt, dust, and old paper. “I have the studies you were looking for, Master. Unfortunately, it seems as if there are only two.”

Tahl raised both eyebrows. “Only two studies of the Prophecy? In one thousand years?”

“That’s what I thought, too,” Bant said. “What’s going on in this place, Master?”

Tahl bent her head close to her Padawan’s ear and told her of what she had already discovered. She did not yet mention the suspicion growing in her mind; it seemed far too fanciful.

 _Obi-Wan and Anakin are not fanciful,_ a snide voice in her head reminded Tahl. _They are truth, no matter how inconvenient you and others may find it._

Kerin returned in a half-hour, after Tahl had already turned away in disgust from the two books Bant had found. They were preening, posturing, _useless_ excuses for research papers. Had any student of Tahl’s ever turned in such rubbish, she would have stabbed all of their “work” with her lightsaber before telling them to go do it again.

Bant picked up the gist of that thought through the training bond. “I am so very glad I have never turned in anything that warranted lightsaber-stabbing.”

“That’s because you are a thoughtful, intelligent creature, dear one,” Tahl replied.

Kerin guided them over to what Bant told her was a holographic display unit. “The data is old and jumpy—not a very stable recording at all,” Kerin apologized. “I will be making several new copies of the file as we view it, and would be pleased to offer one of those copies to you.”

“That is very kind, thank you,” Tahl said, though she expected nothing less, not at this juncture.

“I apologize,” Kerin added. “There is no sound attached to this file.”

“Also fine,” Tahl told her. “My Padawan will help me to view it. You may play it whenever you like,” she said, after blinking a few times. Her inner eye gained the hazy violet filter of her Padawan’s eyesight, which also gave Tahl the ability to look in two different directions at once. Tahl always asked Bant _not_ to do so when her Padawan shared her sight with her Master. Looking at one object through the wrong spectrum of light was difficult enough.

Kerin began the playback. Bant did an excellent job of focusing on the figures with both eyes, allowing Tahl to see several of the tall, willowy Morous natives gather in a semi-circle. It was a traditional reception ceremony, Tahl thought, if she was recalling the library’s customs correctly.

A man bearing a scroll walked into the recording frame. Bant focused on the newcomer without prompting needed. He was human and male, or near-human enough that there was almost no difference. The man was garbed in tunics and loose breeches with a Jedi cut. He was hairless, had a strong build with a heavy jaw, and pale eyes—

When recognition came, Tahl let out a surprised squeak and clutched Bant’s arm with both hands. _It’s a lie,_ she thought, heart pounding in her chest. _All of it._

“Master?” Bant asked, as Tahl lost the visual thread and quite happily went back to not being able to see a bloody thing with her useless, stupid eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Tahl waved Kerin off, and the librarian, sensing the Master’s distress, obeyed and walked away. The moment she was out of earshot, Tahl drew her Padawan into her arms and held on as if for dear life.

Force help them, the entire Prophecy was a lie.

**Author's Note:**

> Attainment goes into the editing room next. Maybe I'll get it done *before* the ten-year mark...


End file.
